


To Long and Seek After

by Larrrsy



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-04-24 08:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 78,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14351601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larrrsy/pseuds/Larrrsy
Summary: Cassandra and Varric come face to face with their pasts.  Decisions long since made, events thought out of their control.  Thrust into a world that has shaped itself around their deepest desires they must choose between a world they know and a world that could give them everything they’ve ever wanted.





	1. Chapter 1

It had taken the better part of a fortnight trekking through the unyielding snows and bitter winds of the Frostback Mountains, but they had finally found it.  Not that Cassandra knew what _it_ was of course, Solas had been keeping the exact details to himself.  The Inquisitor had assured her that all would be explained in due time, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Ellana was making excuses for the elf.  And far more concerning, Cassandra wasn’t entirely convinced that Solas even knew exactly what he sought. It was an artifact, a magical artifact. As if there seemed to be any other kind these days.  Whatever it was had led them here, at the edge of the Dales, to yet another aged and decrepit building. One of many in their journeys such far. Its purpose and structure yet another casualty to the passage of time.  

The overgrowth among the ruins ran thick like a green fur, sprouting between broken slabs across an uneven floor.  It coated piles of rubble, fallen walls and empty windows in spongy layers and wound its way posessively around cracked pillars, erasing hard and unnatural manmade edges.  Nature had reasserted its claim upon the area in what had surely been a slow and steady creep that held as a stark reminder that all that they fought for would one day be lost to time as well.  It was a sobering thought. Strong enough that Cassandra silently chastised herself for letting her own misgivings pull her from their purpose. For all she knew, this artifact could make the difference in the end.  Whatever it was however, she could not see it or sense it, not like Solas claimed he could. No, all she could see was a wash of lush vegetation and all she could sense was a sneeze coming on.

The artifact was supposedly something ancient, something lost to history.  In her experience if an object disappeared from record there was usually a good reason as to why.  But Solas was convinced that he had located it, and that it would be of use to the Inquisition. And as she was more and more frequently reminding herself, they were really in no position to be dismissing any possible avenues that could help them defeat Corypheus.  Even if this mission was beginning to feel like a fool’s errand, with nothing but stone and dirt to show for it. However, from the change in Solas’s demeanor, as subtle as that was, they had to be close. Thankfully so, she admitted to herself, as she was not the only one with growing doubts and frustrations.  She just happened to be more subtle about it than some people.

“Oh look, another rock pile.  And another! You sure this isn’t what you’re looking for Chuckles?” Varric remarked glibly as he experimentally toed an already precarious looking stack of stones.  They wavered under the pressure of his touch before thankfully stilling once again. He was acting the child, petulant and seeking attention. It should have annoyed her more than it currently was, but she was secretly glad to have another as seemingly frustrated as her.  Varric poked at the stone tower again with the toe of his boot, for what purpose she could not tell lest he was courting a certain level of chaos and destruction in his boredom. Whatever outcome he had been expecting he seemed neither pleased nor surprised when the tower of stones collapsed in front of him, tumbling across the uneven ground with an echoing clatter.  A cloud of dirt and dust kicked up in its wake, adding to the already musty air that clung to all of them like a second skin. Cassandra turned her head away from the sudden influx of debris and scrunched her nose tightly against the itch that was ever increasing within her. She would not let her allergies get the better of her. 

The jarring sound of stone against stone caused the Inquisitor to stop her own exploration ahead of them.  She turned towards the pair with an annoyed look on her face and Cassandra sidestepped the rocks that had rolled in front of her feet trying to put some distance between herself and the dwarf.  She wasn’t about to get roped into Varric’s antics.

“You could always wait outside if you wanted, we shouldn’t be here long,” said Ellana with the tone of a tired mother reprimanding her children, not quite angry but resigned.  Cassandra felt a pang of shame and shot Varric a scalding look, disapproving and accusatory for getting her involved. He returned her glare without a hint of apology, his usual grin plastered across his face.  Something in his eyes toyed with her as if he knew that she had been silently...regrettably, appreciative of his path of defiance and her body tensed slightly. He could not know she assured herself, but it did not stop her from quickly shifting her gaze away from him regardless. 

“And miss all this fun?” replied Varric belatedly to Ellana’s offer, his voice dripping with unchecked sarcasm as he spread his arms wide, gesturing theatrically to the dead space around them.  His hand hovered dangerously, and purposefully she could only assume, close to her face and she resisted the urge to smack it away. Choosing instead to roll her eyes up to where the ceiling should have hung above them with a poorly suppressed sigh.  The dull afternoon sky looked back at her, so pale as to be almost colourless. Indistinct and unassuming, it suited her mood well. 

Ellana sighed heavily as well and Cassandra’s attention shifted back to her in time to watch as she turned from them with a slight drop of her shoulders and moved further down the long, narrow chamber towards Solas.  She stopped at his side and stood awkwardly, apprehension written across her person and cleared her throat. “Uh...Solas?” asked Ellana, with a tentativeness in her voice that only seemed to manifest itself around the man in question.  He acknowledged her with a sidelong glance before returning to his standard process of examination, silent and exacting. “Varric does have point, this would be a bit easier if we knew more about what to look for. Size? Shape?...anything really,” she muttered quietly to herself, though not quietly enough.  Her words carried across the open air and Cassandra couldn’t help but feel that slightest bit vindicated. Her assumptions had been right, Ellana knew just as much as they did. Nothing.

Solas remained silent just long enough that the Inquisitor began to shift uncomfortably, looking torn between asking her question again and moving on altogether.  Eventually, after a drawn out silence, he spoke. “It has gone by many names,” he began, as deadpan and serious as ever. “Has been used for many things, though it can truly only do one.” 

There was a soft scoff at Cassandra’s side. 

“And people say _I’m_ overly dramatic,” commented Varric lowly.  Had she not been standing next to him, closer than may have been necessary in the vastness of the space that surrounded them, she would not have been privy to Varric’s commentary.  He caught her eye, and the knowing look they shared confirmed to her that her inclusion in his snide mutterings had been very much deliberate. With a slow blink, Varric’s pointed stare fell back into an easy grin and her concentration slipped from the matter at hand.  Solas’s words buzzed unintelligibly in her ear as she was taken in by the softening of Varric’s eyes and the slight pull of his lips. How quickly had her recent ire for the man been extinguished, had she not been silently cursing his very being moments before? 

“—it has been most commonly referred to as a wishing stone.”   

Wait. 

Cassandra’s attention swivelled back to Solas abruptly.  Turning her head towards him she stood a little straighter.  Had she heard him correctly? A wishing stone? Varric and Ellana had both come to attention as well, between them all pretense of searching stopped. 

“It grants wishes?” asked Ellana with unconcealed awe in her voice.  Cassandra was glad that at least one of them had been paying attention, close enough at least to question without betraying their stunning ignorance of Solas’s explanation. 

“Oh this will end well,” grumbled Varric, this time with no care for his volume.  If Solas heard Varric’s criticism however he made no attempt to rebut it. Seemingly unperturbed he moved away from Ellana towards the end of the chamber and began an examination of the only still standing doorway in the room, a stone archway half collapsed in on itself.  Three sets of eyes and ears remained trained on him, now waiting in rapt attention for the rest of his explanation. 

A silence bloomed between them as they continued to wait and Cassandra began to feel the flutterings of the lamentably pervasive frustration that had clung to her throughout the entirety of the journey rise within her once again.  Her patience was running thin and would not withstand much more in the way of the pageantry or spectacle that Solas seemed so keen on maintaining. 

“No.  It does not grant wishes exactly,” continued Solas eventually, when enough timed had passed for even Ellana’s eyes to darken slightly in annoyance.  Oblivious to the tension that was rising around him he ran his fingers along the edge of the arch and looked speculatively at the grime that had collected there.  Words of urgency, harsh and demanding were forming on her lips, the last thread of her patience now lost when Solas turned from them and continued on through the passageway without a word or a backwards glance.

Ellana looked taken aback, and glanced uncertainly between them and Solas’s retreating form that was already being swallowed by the shadows of the partially collapsed passageway.  There was a moment’s hesitation, a flicker of questioning across her face before she took off in pursuit of the elf nearly tripping over herself in an effort to catch up to him. Cassandra’s teeth ground together effectively silencing the admonitions that had rested on her lips.  Had the expectation been to follow? To obediently trail after him and hang on his every word should he deign to speak? 

She should not have felt bolstered by the fact that Varric remained still as well.  Knowing that a sudden alliance with him said nothing good about her chosen course of action.  Remaining where Ellana had not was an act of passive aggression which was beneath them. Well, her at least.  Yet still she remained unmoving, her sudden turn to rapt attention digressing just as quickly as it had come. She was admittedly interested in what Solas had to say, though she held her own reservations about trying to find something that may have been forgotten with intent.  And wishes? She was in agreeance with Varric in that regard, there was great caution to be had in dealing with something so uncontrollable, so intangible. Cassandra stared worriedly at the once again empty archway and contemplated what lay ahead of them. 

Varric began to fidget next to her as if waiting for her to do something, say anything.  She felt her momentary foray into opposition slip away from her almost reluctantly as the steady creep of duty, a sense of propriety wormed its way back into her psyche.  

“Shall we?” she queried Varric halfheartedly.  He responded with a look that matched much of what she felt, a sense of grudging resignation.  “Unless?” She looked wistfully at the woods that lay beyond the ruins, imagined the cool, crisp air that resided there.  “That is...Ellana did offer,” she continued. It was a weak excuse she knew, and one she would not have taken on her own, but should the suggestion come from Varric… 

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her skeptically, as if judging her level of conviction before shrugging casually and shaking his head.  “Nah, you know I’d never pass up an opportunity to complain,” he replied with a self-aware wink that settled into another easy smile on his face.  As his lips curved up Cassandra began to feel the strain of their circumstances ebb just a little. With the ease of his voice and demeanour she found herself matching his smile in turn.  Somewhere along the way, along the path that was their tumultuous relationship, it had become an almost instinctual reaction to his presence. Replacing the snarl that had so often marred her features at the very thought of him. Not that it did not still have its time and place, only that she found use for it far less than she had before.   

With effort she drew her gaze away from Varric’s and towards the archway at the end of the chamber. 

“Then I suppose we should follow.”

 

\----

 

Ellana easily caught up to Solas’s purposeful stride, her heavy steps momentarily drowning out the end of his sentence. 

“Sorry, say that again it does or does not grant wishes?”   

“The name is a misnomer, it does not grant one anything except knowledge.”  The pair came to the end of the partially collapsed passageway, stepping into what had once been a cavernous hall, but was now a shell of its former self.   

“Then why the name?”  Ellana tried to take in the scope of the room, impressive even in its current state, but Solas was already moving on across the flagstone and towards two more archways on the other side of the room.  The artifact must have been close for him to forgo his generally strict assessment of their surroundings. Not that she minded. A swift breeze would probably topple what meager supports were left of this place.

“It creates a reality in one’s mind, as real as our own to the user.  A reality in which what you seek is true.” Ellana followed behind Solas as they crossed the room.  Keeping pace a little closer than necessary in an attempt to ease him through it more quickly.

“So if I wanted to know what Cullen would look like in a dress, it could show me that?” she said brightly, images of pink silks, and ribbons and bows in an assortment of colours forming in her mind.

“Do think bigger picture,” Solas drawled.

“A world without bees?” she tried again, and was met with a face that somehow managed to express not just one but multiple lifetimes worth of disappointment.  And she had thought facing her advisors after a liquor fueled night of poor decision making with the Chargers had been bad. 

“Theoretically...yes,” he said, sounding tired and less than impressed.  “The problem lies in the asking of the question, it decides for you what you are to know.  Though many had thought they had conquered it.” 

“It chooses?” she asked skeptically, her sudden enthusiasm waning.

“It looks into your very being, if we are to name it and divines a person’s truth, their desire.”  Solas was eyeing the archways now, his head swivelling between the two. The lay next to each other, almost identical in nature, though in the passageways beyond one sloped up and the other down.

“That doesn’t seem very useful, I mean not in a way that we could use it at least.”  An artifact that answered its own questions? If this trip turned out to be a waste of time she would never hear the end of it.

“Wars have been waged over it.  Societies built around its use.”  Solas sounded distracted as he stared at the leftmost passageway, brows furrowing ever so slightly before turning and heading through the right-hand path instead. 

“It doesn’t seem all that powerful,” Ellana said before following after him, a fraction more slowly than before, readjusting to a more socially acceptable personal distance. 

“Ask the right question and it could tell you the future.  Ask the right question and it could tell you how to defeat Corypheus.”  The severity, the sense of purpose had returned to his voice.

“And how many tries do I get?”  He seemed so sure, so confident in this artifact’s power, she was not as convinced, not just yet.

“One.”

“Yeah, that seems about right,” she muttered to herself.  This was why she had not let herself get her hopes up, there was always a catch.

“Is it not worth trying?” 

“Is it dangerous in any way? Are there side effects?  Downsides?” The questions were quick off her lips as the passageway began to narrow, the steady slope upwards becoming steeper and steeper.

“There have been those who when faced with a reality unlike their own have been unable to disengage from it, those that have not returned.  Whether they were unable to or they chose to stay we will never know.” 

“Unable to?” she said with a pointedness she hoped he would catch as he could not see her eyebrows raise with his back to her.  He said it with such a casualness, as if the possibility of being trapped in a different reality was not of great concern or worry.  Her step faltered slightly as her mind swam with visions clouded in red, a not so distant, not so unlikely future. She had been down this path before and she was in no rush to repeat it.

“One cannot be brought back to our reality from the physical world.  To return one has to break the connection, _physically_ break the artifact within their reality.  And of course it must be found first,” he added as almost an aside.

“And if it isn’t?  Found that is, what happens to the wielder?” 

“The artifact cannot sustain a person forever.  They simply...waste away.” 

The slight hesitation in his answer made her question what exactly he had been going to say.  Was it more than that? Would a user face a fate worse than the life slipping from them, or had he realized that what he was saying, that the possible effects of use were in fact slightly more disturbing than he had considered?   

“It has been theorized that it does in itself drain the lifeforce from a person, its toll for their use,” he added nonchalantly.    

Sometimes she wondered if he even listened to the words coming out of his own mouth, and an aggravated sigh rolled through hers. 

“Theorized?  You mean you don’t know?”  She tried to keep her tone from darkening as her patience dwindled. 

“There is much of it that I am unaware of.  But rest assured I do intend to thoroughly examine and test it before anyone touches it.”   

Well, wasn’t that a relief.

 

\----

 

Varric wistfully eyed the doorway, well really it was a hole in the wall, that they had entered through, before sweeping a hand out and gesturing Cassandra on in front of him.  Of course they were going to follow the Inquisitor and Solas, they hadn’t come this far just to wait it out while the others got all the glory. Not that he really believed there was any glory to be had, nor did he want it but, a wishing stone?  What a load of hock. Though he wouldn’t mind seeing Solas just a _little_ disappointed after all this effort.  Payback, for dragging him along on yet another seemingly endless journey filled with hard grounds, and cold nights.  And he suspected he wasn’t the only one who would enjoy seeing the elf taken down a peg or two. Cassandra tried to sniff discretely next to him, like he hadn’t noticed the redness around her eyes or that they had begun to steadily weep at the corners.  She had been suffering in silence even though her discomfort was plain for everyone to see. If he had been complaining a bit more frequently and openly than normal well he only hoped she took some solace in knowing she was not the only one having difficulties. 

Cassandra had to duck in order to pass under the crumbling archway that Solas and the Inquisitor had moved on through.  He placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her until she was clear of the rubble that hung above their heads. If his hand lingered a touch longer than necessary she had the decency not to question it.  He was enjoying this new game they were playing. The touches, the glances, the quips that held less venom but just as much bite. He was fairly certain that she did as well. They still had their bad days of course, days where they couldn’t even stand to look at each other for the very real fear of tearing one another apart.  But there were good days as well, great days if he wasn’t lying to himself. Days when banter led to actual conversation, conversation peppered with joking and flirting if all a bit understated. He did still have this weird obsession about keeping all his limbs intact after all. But she seemed to be receptive, even when he tried his best to be rational about the whole thing.

Finding out that she read his books, his _romance_ serial no less had been a real eye opener.  It had made him question everything he thought he knew about her, which it turned out had not been a lot.  It was a secret enjoyment of his now to delve away beyond the facade she had perfected over so many years. Slowly, steadily, never overreaching.  Admittedly a new tactic for him. But one that seemed to be working if her response was anything to go by. He wasn’t about to take credit for it, but she did seem to be smiling more often than usual, which was to say at all. 

On the other side of the passageway the ceilings rose, vaulting into what may have once been a spectacular feat of architecture.  Now there were more holes than ceiling, and pillars waned unnervingly as if willing to be toppled, eased from their burden of hefting intricately cut heavy stone.  Shallow pools of water from a recent rainfall had collected in cracks and dips on the floor leaving the air even heavier despite the more open space than the last chamber.  Cassandra’s mouth was tightly shut, her normally full lips pressed into a thin line. He understood why, this would not be the place to lose out to her allergies now. It didn’t feel like an exaggeration to think that an errant breath could bring the entire room down around them, a sneeze or a cough?  Well, he didn’t really want to think about it. Neither did she apparently as they made their way silently and hastily across the room.

There were only two archways on the other side of the room, but that was one too many for what they needed.

“Left or right?” he all but whispered, and Cassandra looked between the two passageways.  He couldn’t see any tracks on the ground that would tell them which way the others had gone.  The rain had washed away any dirt or dust that would have shown them.

“Maybe we should wait for them?”   

She had a point, but he really didn’t want to stay in this room any longer than necessary, and he was beginning to regret letting the pair get out of their sights altogether now. 

“Look, the longer we wait Seeker the longer we have to stay in here.  If we find them, we find them. If we don’t, then we’ve crossed off another area.  So, left or right?” he pressed. She was considering it, her eyes narrowing as she weighed out their options.  She took another look at both passageways. 

“...Left.”  There was hesitation in her voice, and he understood where she was coming from but he had never been one to think much of plans.  Best laid and all. Setting a faster pace, he took off down the passage that Cassandra had chosen. 

As with the rest of the complex that they had been in the hallway showed nothing more than signs of neglect and decay.  Heavy brush dampened their footsteps down cracked stone floors. He tried to step a little more gently than normal, the extra foliage was not helping Cassandra’s condition but there was only so much he could do even with his rogue abilities.  The walls were thick with grime, broken only by shallow alcoves cut away from the stone that housed statues, or what remained of them. Those that might have had discernible features were covered in dense layers of cobwebs, obscuring anything that might have given them a hint of what they were stepping into.  The passageway began to narrow and slope downwards. They walked on until the tunnel could only accommodate one person at a time, and even then his broad shoulders and her armoured ones skidded across the walls leaving tracks in the dirt. There had been no need for a torch or a lantern before, windows and half fallen walls had provided enough light, but now the darkness was creeping in.  It was a good thing he had taken the lead, he doubted Cassandra could see much of anything anymore. He’d have to be her eyes for the time being. But the darkness did not last for long.

“It brightens up just ahead.  Gets wider too I think,” he called over his shoulder. 

“I shall just have to trust your word.”   

It was a loaded statement if any coming from her.

“I’m going to pretend you weren’t being sarcastic there Seeker.  Wouldn’t want you to get lost down here in the dark.” He was joking, mostly.  But he had to stifle a laugh when he felt her hand grip at his shoulder. 

Just as he had thought, the tunnel began to open up and soon the two of them stood in a small circular room lit only by a smaller circular opening in the ceiling.  A domed window might have stood there once though now it was empty except for streamers of vines falling down through. A single door lay on the other side of the room.  In between them and it was a raised dais, large enough for the one chair that stood atop it and nothing more. The chair, or what was left of it, looked plain and delicate.  Though it must have been of a superior construction, that anything of it remained at all. Had someone been sitting in it they would have been facing the passageway that they had just exited.  The layout of the room suggested that whoever had once sat in the chair had possibly stood watch or guard over whatever lay beyond, controlling the flow of people into the far room. The two of them stepped around the chair and came together again in front of the small door.  The door held a sturdy iron lock, intricate and complex in design. But ultimately worthless now as the wood around it had rotted away, leaving gaping holes in the barrier. Cassandra gave him an expectant look.

“Well?” she said with a raise of her eyebrow. 

Varric stepped back and gave what was left of the door a swift kick.  The worn planks fell away, clattering against the floor and leaving the lock standing firm against the outer frame. 

“Not quite what I had in mind.”  An all too familiar exasperation settled into her tone. 

“I promise you can have the next one,” he said before eagerly moving to peer into the now uncovered room.   

The light behind him barely illuminated the room beyond.  From the doorway he could see that it was octagonal in shape, with long benches against each wall.  In the centre of the room stood a metal stand unto itself, its ironwork detailed and elaborate. Whatever the stand held, if anything, was too shrouded in darkness to be seen from his current vantage point.  

Varric stepped into the room.

 

\----    

 

Cassandra nearly reached out to stop Varric as he passed her.  If they had in fact found what they were looking for, and it did seem that they had found something, it seemed prudent to have Solas here.  Now she was torn between turning back for the others and not wanting to leave Varric on his own. With a low huff and one final look back at the passageway they had entered through she followed Varric into the room. 

Having stepped further into the shadow of the room she could tell now that the stand in the centre of it did in fact hold something.  Well, gripped may have been a more accurate description. The iron of the stand was worked around a disc, no larger than her palm with thin, needle like claws holding it aloft.  The disc itself was smooth, made of stone possibly, and had a small diamond shape portion missing from the middle. Its most striking feature however was its colour. Black, but unlike any shade of it she had ever seen.  It seemed to suck in the light around it. Staring at it was like staring into nothing at all. Even against the shadows, the darkness that pervaded the room it stood out like a trick of the eye a sudden blind spot in one’s vision both there and not. 

“Well uh, I think we found it,” Varric stated unnecessarily. 

“We should go back, get Solas.”  She didn’t like being near to it, whatever it was.  It felt, alive? No that was not the right word for it.  It was difficult to describe, to attribute words to it but there was a presence around her now, now that she was aware of it.  Varric nodded slowly, eyeing the disc with a wary look. 

“Agreed.” 

The sound of boots clattering on stone echoed in from behind her.  Ellana’s voice followed it, “Cassandra? Varric?” 

“Down here!” Varric shouted back, his voice ricocheting off the close walls around them. 

“Don’t touch anything!”  Was Solas’s fast reply. Cassandra eyed the remnants of the door scattered across the floor with a grim twist of the mouth, almost missing the sudden downturn in Varric’s features.  She recognized that look, and it was not a good sign. Varric had never been one to be told what to do.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!”  Varric called back and took a defiant step closer to the stand in the middle of the room.

“Varric,” she hissed.  A warning. Now was not the time to play games. 

“What?  I’m not touching anything.”  He was trying and failing to look innocent, his usual smirk twitching at his mouth.  “Not touching anything,” he repeated, his eyes focusing on the stand in the middle of the room.  Varric clasped his hands behind his back and shuffled around the room coming closer and closer to the centre of it.  Puffs of dust scattered into the already heavy air at his movements and Cassandra felt her nose twitch. The sneeze that she had been holding back rearing its head once again.  With an exaggerated sweep of his leg Varric took one final step before stopping just at the stand, a head above the disc it held. 

It was too much.  Dust filled air stuttered in through her mouth and nose and the itching, the pressure that she had been trying to suppress was suddenly beyond her ability.  She sneezed, violently. Buckling with the force and catching herself on her knee. It caught her off guard, and Varric as well, startling him from what may not have been the sturdiest of stances to begin with.  He lurched to the side on instinct, an automatic impulse that sent him careening into the stand in the process.

It was like watching time slow, almost stop altogether.  Cassandra stared wide-eyed as the disc was flung from the pedestal.  As it toppled, without thinking she lunged for it. Varric did too. He was closer, but her arms were longer and they reached it at the same time.   

It was cold in her hands even through the thick hide of her gloves, and the material which she had thought was stone was not something she could name just by touch.  It was hard, harder than it looked with its rounded edges, and a sharp contrast to the soft flesh of Varric’s fingers that lay squarely beside her own. It was the wrong thing to do, catch the disc.  She knew it almost instantly, even before she could see the outline of Solas’s form in the doorway, before she could make out the shock in his face. He was saying something, yelling perhaps but it barely registered.  She hit the ground hard, the blow softened only by Varric’s form beneath her, and then there was nothing.

 

\----

 

A sharp pain shot up her shoulder, and Cassandra rolled onto her back to lessen the ache.  Something thick and long, like a rope, pressed into her back. She ignored it in favour of rubbing at her shoulder in a sore attempt to lessen the pain. 

“Stop being such a baby, I didn’t hit you that hard,” a voice called from above her.  She knew that voice. Or at least she thought she did, it sounded familiar but like a distant memory, one though that she should remember.   

Cassandra cracked open her eyes, a blurry form stood above her, haloed by bright sunlight.  Sunlight? It had been nearly pitch black in the room they were in and the day had been dreary at best.  

Cassandra pushed through the pain and tried to prop herself up onto her elbows.  Her hand caught on whatever she had been laying on, causing her head to snap back.  She lifted her hand from the ground, which released her head and looked under her arm.  A long thick length of hair, in a colour most familiar to her lay coiled against the grass.  As she rose it too lifted and swung against her back. She grabbed at it and ran her hands up the length until sure enough, they met at the top of her scalp.  It was hers, her own hair as she had worn it in her youth. But how? 

“Don’t you think it’s about time you cut that thing off?  I mean seriously Cassie, it’s not even the slightest bit practical.”  Cassandra felt her stomach clench. Only one person in all her life had called her Cassie.  Cassandra looked about again at the form towering over her, bringing a hand to her eyes to ward off the sun she let the figure’s face come into focus.  Her breath cut off in her throat, as if all the air in the world had suddenly dispersed, faded into the ether. The man above her was tall and lean, he had a youthful and bright smile that stood out against the hard planes of his face.  The only thing which hinted at his age were the wisps of grey at his temples in an otherwise shockingly black head of hair. He may have been older, nearly 30 years older. But she would have known him anywhere.

“Anthony?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Anthony?”

“Oh shit, maybe I did hit you that hard.  Quick, how many fingers am I holding up.” A gloved hand was shoved in front of Cassandra’s face and she looked straight past it, bewildered into the face of the man above her.  It  _ was _ Anthony.  Her brother.  Her  _ dead _ brother.  The fingers in front of her face wiggled. 

“What is going on, where am I?  What are you doing here?” Had she struck her head in the fall?  Was she dreaming? Everything felt so real, the grass under her fingers, the breeze against her face, the heat of the sun.  But the Fade felt real, if a little off. How else could she explain it though? To see her brother aged far beyond his death.  The hand retreated from her face and Anthony crouched down next to her.

“Okay quit playing Cassie, this isn’t funny.  Are you hurt? Let me take a look.” He reached for her head and she recoiled from his touch.  His hands faltered at her side before reaching out again and firmly grasping her head. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, of course you’ve always had a thick skull.”  The sound of his voice was bringing back so many memories, difficult memories. Things she did not often let herself think of for the pain they brought her. He gently tugged at her hair before standing up and offering her his hand.  “Let’s call it a day and head back to camp.”

What was going on?  Where was the temple, where were the others?  She had fallen, Varric at her side. She could still feel the dull ache in her shoulder from where she had collided with the stone floor.  The pinch in her fingers from Varric’s grasp where they had held the artifact.

The artifact.

What had Solas said?  She racked her brain to remember.  Had it to do with dreams, or… No. Wishes?  Was it wishes? Anthony stared at her expectantly.  Had she done this? Had she willed him into existence?  Bent the laws of nature, corrupted the Will of the Maker to save her brother from an early fate?  

Unable to stop the instinctual reaction in herself she took Anthony’s proffered hand and he pulled her from the ground.  She was surprised to find that they were almost the same height. She was a tall woman, had been a tall child but he had always towered over her.  Now at nearly eye level she could see the age in his face. The strain around his eyes, the lines at the corners of his mouth. He looked like their father, or what she remembered of him.  It was too much, being faced with whatever this was, this new reality, the memories which it evoked almost painfully from her subconscious. Her breath felt short, constricted, blocked in her chest and she tried desperately to take in more air.  Anthony’s eyes flared with concern and she was quickly enveloped in his arms.

“Hey-hey, shhhh.  Deep breaths,” he soothed, as a hand stroked the back of her head.  “It’s okay, everything will be okay. In through the nose, out through the mouth just like I taught you.”  Her mind reeled sideways and she was sitting on the edge of a bed, a child, sobbing into her brother’s arms.  She had cried every night for a month after their parents deaths and Anthony had been there to hold her, ease her suffering.  She had thought it the worst pain in all the world, could not believe that it could be surpassed. But it had been, when he had been taken from her as well.  Then there had been no one to hold her as she had relived the pain and agony of losing one’s entire world. She had cried until there were no tears left in her body.  Until sorrow and despair were replaced with a fire deep within her. A fire that burned passionately, and destructively. So much of what she was, who she was could be traced to those moments in her life for better or worse.

As much as it was a part of her, as real and vital as the heart which was beating erratically against her breast, it was a time that she no longer cared to think of, not anymore.  Not when it had blindly fuelled her for so much of her life. But this man, this man that looked and sounded and felt like Anthony, this man that was holding her made it feel as if those thoughts, so vivid, so intrinsic were but false memories, fabrications supplanted in her mind.  As if the darkness that shrouded her past, that cast itself across her memories like a ragged cloak unable to keep out the elements, was no longer there. In this moment, at his touch, with the sound of his voice he had erased a lifetime’s worth of insecurity and loneliness. 

It felt like there was a river running through her, coursing, rushing and without warning dividing into two paths, doing its best to pull her along in both directions though she knew it was impossible.  She could not reconcile the knowledge, the truth of her life with this aberration. What was this place, what had she done? She had to make things right, set them back to the way they were supposed to be.

“I’ve got you, everything will be okay.”  Anthony’s voice was lulling her, easing the constriction in her chest.  

She felt the pull again, and with it a change in direction.  She had to make things right, but did she want to?

 

\---- 

 

Varric sat up coughing, straining for breath.  The force of the Seeker on his chest and his back against the stone had expelled all of the air from his gut.  His whole body ached, and his head was swimming. Sitting up had been a mistake. Gracelessly he let himself fall back against the floor.

The soft floor?

He blinked rapidly but his vision was still too blurry to make out his surroundings.  But it was definitely fabric he felt beneath his hands and back, his bare back. Where had his clothes gone?  He sat up again, ignoring the pounding at his temples and strained to see his surroundings. Wherever he was if was most definitely not the ruins, and the others were nowhere to be seen.  This was not good, really not good.

When his eyes had finally cleared and adjusted to the dim light he could tell that he was in a bed, in a small, cramped room.  The furnishings were shabby, and had seen decades of use. The wood panelled walls were crooked and warped. A singular window with a threadbare curtain pinned across it let in the only light.  Stains, black like soot, red like blood and a disgusting rainbow of all sorts of things that he did not want to think about littered almost every available surface. The floor didn’t look like something he wanted to step on with bare feet, but from what he could see he certainly didn’t want to be naked in this bed any longer than necessary.

Varric hopped out of the bed and gingerly crossed the room, pushing aside the scant covering on the window.  He closed it again just as quickly, not quite believing what lay beyond. A swift breeze blew in through the cracked pane of glass, ruffling the makeshift curtain still in his hand.  If he had thought his eyes had failed him, then his nose must have as well because the scent in air was unmistakable. 

Varric peeled back the curtain again, slowly this time.  Not that he thought it would change what he had seen. He recognized those streets, that bay, those cliffs.  Kirkwall. Lowtown to be exact, if the stench of raw sewage mixed with sweat, blood and stale alcohol was anything to go by.  He was home. 

How in the Maker’s bloody name had he gotten to Kirkwall?  They’d been just on the edge of the Dales moments before. He could practically still hear Solas yelling in his ear, “Don’t touch it!”  Oops. Was that what this was? Had that disc transported him here? Was the Seeker here too, she’d touched it as well. A vision of Cassandra waking in a similar situation, naked as he, took his focus for a moment before he cleared his thoughts with a shake of the head.  He needed answers and he needed them now.

He was in an inn or a tavern most likely, but not the Hanged Man.  He knew every inch of that place, and this room did not look familiar.  He always stayed at the Hanged Man, why would he be staying somewhere else?  Just another question that needed answering apparently. 

Varric scoured the room for anything useful, anything familiar.  There were clothes on the ground, nothing he recognized but they looked like they’d fit, and something was better than nothing.  Hastily he dressed, and found himself unnerved at how well the drab coloured clothes fit him. Well enough that it did not seem a coincidence.  Were they his then? They were not of a style he was used to, nor a quality. Varric ran his hands down his person, patting himself cautiously as if he’d lost something but was not quite certain where he had last placed it.  Checking the pockets turned up nothing, but his uneven search did reveal the concealment of a few well placed knives hidden among seams and linings. 

The discovery of the weapons sparked a new more frantic search around the room.  Where was Bianca? Waking up entire continents away from where he had just been was one thing.  Not having his crossbow was another entirely. What had that artifact done?

If only he’d paid a bit more attention to Solas’s explanation.  If only he hadn’t been distracted by the Seeker and her sudden willingness to shunt authority.  It had put them on the same side for once, had felt like they were conspiring in their own harmless way.  Well, maybe not so harmless after all— _ balls _ .  He was in for it now.  Think! What had Solas said about it?  He didn’t think it had to do with teleportation, but it would explain a lot.  Not all, but a lot.

Varric crossed the room again and took another look out the window.  The streets were unusually bare. At this time of day there should have been merchants and peddlers filling them.  He couldn’t even see a single beggar, and he knew all their usual haunts. What was going on? There was an unease that he couldn’t shake.  It wasn’t just the surprise of being back in Kirkwall, the uncertainty of how he’d ended up here. The whole thing felt wrong, different somehow.  Not different like the Fade. No. That had its own special brand of unnatural, the kind that crawled up your back and settled on your skin like a layer of thick, rancid, oil.  This felt like looking at reality through a dirty piece of glass, or in a mirror. A poor imitation of what he knew, or thought he knew. 

He heard the door to the room creak open and his head whipped around at the noise.  

“Awake so soon?  After last night’s performance I thought you’d be dead for a week at least,” said an all too familiar voice that made the blood in his veins run cold and the patter of his traitor heart quicken.

“Bianca?” he said with a naively hopeful disbelief.  But he didn’t need an answer to know it was her. Just as he didn’t need her to enter the room, though she did.  Well didn’t this day just keep getting better and better.

“Expecting someone else?” she said as she rolled her eyes and carried a meager tray of food to the rickety table opposite him.  “If you’re up then are you gonna join me on the job?” She looked at him for the first time since entering the room and he froze for a moment sure that she would say something, about why he was here, about what was going on.  Instead she looked at him expectantly, awaiting a response as if their situation was nothing out of the ordinary. Her tacit refusal to broach the subject of his unexpected arrival let forth a line of questioning he could hardly stop.

“Wait, what?  Job? What are you doing here?  What am  _ I  _ doing here?”  This wasn’t right for so many reasons.  Even if he could explain being here, he couldn’t fathom an explanation that put him in the presence of Bianca, not after… No.  He was certain now, this was that bloody artifact if only he could remember what it could do.

“That is the last time I let you challenge one of those pirates to a drinking contest ever again.  Even if it does bring in enough coin to put food on the table,” she said more to herself than to him.  A drinking contest? He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since watching his mother waste herself away with the stuff.  “The smuggling crew,” she continued with no notice of the confusion on his face that he was doing little to hide. “I’m supposed to meet them just outside the city.  If you wanted to tag along we could probably squeeze more coin out of them.” She ripped a chunk off a loaf of bread from the tray on the table and tore into it.

“Why would I—”

“Oh I forgot, it’s  _ moving day _ isn’t it,” she interrupted, cutting off his question while trying to do air quotes around the hunk of bread in her hand.  “Pick someplace a little bit nicer this time would ya? Then maybe your brother or my father won’t find us. You did earn it.”  She winked at him and tossed a small purse at him with her free hand. He caught it out of the air and felt the familiar but light weight of coin in it.  His skin was starting to crawl. Just being so close to her brought up such conflicting emotions within him. He’d told her, after the red lyrium, after she’d betrayed him that he hadn’t wanted to see her anymore, hear from her anymore, nothing.  There would always be a place for her in his heart, he couldn’t help it as much as he knew logically that it brought him nothing but strife to hold onto it. That didn’t mean that he wanted to face her though, in fact it meant that he most certainly did not want to face her.  He had never been able to trust himself around her. “You’d think they’d be over it by now.” Efficiently she gathered together a small pile of food from the table, bundling it in a cloth and stashing it in a pouch on her belt. “It’s been years, and it’s not like we killed anyone.  We only got  _ married _ .”  

The purse slipped from Varric’s fingers, but he didn’t hear it hit the ground his ears suddenly ringing with Solas’s words.  A wishing stone. Wishes.  _ Bloody wishes _ .

What had he done?

 

\---- 

 

“No!”  Solas cried out, his voice cutting through the air.  “Don’t touch it!” 

Ellana arrived in the doorway just in time to see Cassandra and Varric plummet to the ground, their hands clasped around each others and the artifact.  She stood there and waited, waited for a curse from Varric and grunt of distaste from Cassandra but nothing came. Their bodies did not move from the heap they had created on the floor, not a fraction, not an inch.  She looked to Solas, sought his guidance while fighting the urge to rush to them, to check on them. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape it was the most emotion she had ever seen his face express and it frightened her.

“Solas, what...what happ—what do we do?  We can do something right? Help them?” The panic in her voice was evident.  She had never sounded, had never felt less of leader than she did now staring at the slumped forms of her comrades.   As she scrambled for something to latch onto, a purpose, a solution.

“I—”  Solas took a deep breath, his mouth closing, pressing harshly into a thin line.  “There is nothing we can do for them now except to keep watch for them—”

“—No.  No, Solas, there has to be something.  They don’t...do they even know what’s going on?  Will they even understand? You said they have to choose to come back, but they don’t know how to come back!”  The words rushed out of her frantically as she struggled to keep up with the thoughts racing through her head. Dark thoughts, dire and deadly.

“If there is something to be done about this I will find it,” said Solas, returning seamlessly to his usual composed demeanour thought he stood with an unnatural tenseness in his shoulders.  “They are capable people, you know this. Have faith in their ability, they have faced worse than this.”

“But you said it creates a reality as real as ours, how will they know that it’s not real?”  She knew too little to understand what was happening, but she knew just enough to grasp the danger that Cassandra and Varric were in.

“They will know, they  _ should _ know almost instantly that something is different.  It can be subtle, the changes that present themselves, but a user will be aware at first of these differences.”  The calm, steady tenor of his voice did nothing to soothe her worry. 

“Are they at least together?”  Together they stood a better chance of figuring things out.  Two heads were better than one, isn’t that what people said? Even when those two heads belonged to people who were constantly butting theirs.

“I do not know.  I have never heard of more than one person using it at a time.”

Ellana chose her steps carefully, entering the room with caution.  Pointedly not touching anything she crouched next to Varric and Cassandra.  For all she knew they were sleeping, their faces lax, their breath shallow. The disc was still trapped inside their hands, it almost pulsed to look at it.  She mulled over what Solas had said while watching the faces of her fallen comrades, repeating his words again and again searching for a shred of hope.

“Wait.”  The word slipped from her mouth unintentionally, quiet and questioning.  It had almost slipped past her what he had said, his exact words, as her mind had reeled trying to take in everything that was happening.  Tearing her eyes from the forms before her she looked squarely at Solas. “At first?” she asked, echoing his own words to him. Solas’s head bowed slightly before he responded, and she knew before he even opened his mouth that she would not like his answer.

“There has not been much written about it, but it has been theor—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, she no longer had the patience.

“...It is possible that the stone affects a person’s memory the longer they use it.  Replacing memories of our reality with ones it has crafted.” It sounded almost rehearsed the way he said it, as if he had practiced, as if he had known that this might come up, this piece of knowledge.  She couldn’t look at him but she found now that she couldn’t look at Cassandra or Varric either. Her mind shifting too quickly, too easily while seeing their limp bodies to visions of lifeless faces and thoughts of ice cold skin.  What could they do now but wait, and hope that the others held the strength to withstand whatever they may face.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments on the first chapter, just wanted to let everyone know that the posting schedule will likely be Tuesdays and Saturdays for the foreseeable future. Thanks!!


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you going to be sick?” Bianca asked though the question lacked even a hint of concern.  Varric could feel sweat prickling on his skin, was it hot in here all of a sudden? There was a roiling feeling in his gut, maybe he was going to be sick.  Or maybe it was his body telling him to run. Run fast and run far. “If you’re gonna puke go outside would you, it smells enough in here as is.” Bianca waved him off without another thought.

Married.  To Bianca.  What in the Maker’s name was happening?  Had he wished for this? How? Why? It was a truth within him that he did not want to face that there was still some part of him that wondered what if?  What if he had married Bianca, what if she had not married Vasca, what if, what if,  _ what if _ ?  It was enough to drive him mad.  It almost had. He had spent far too much of his life thinking about what could have been, what he might have done to change what had happened.  At some other time in his life this would have thrilled him, but now? Now when he was finally beginning to move on from his past, now when he was actively pursuing a different life.  A better life, one not filled with regrets and missed opportunities, and devious, self-centred she-dwarves. What a joke. The universe was officially laughing at him. 

“Leave word for me with our man downstairs,” she said as she crossed the room towards him.  “I’ll see you tonight alright?” She leaned in, invading his personal space. Expectation written in her eyes, and in the curve of her mouth.  Decades of instinct propelled him forward, leaning in at her invitation before he caught himself and pulled back. Bianca’s eyes narrowed.

“Sick,” he mumbled with a curt shake of his head and clenched his hands together behind his back.  Unwilling to give into anything that his body may want, and it did want. Every inch of him was responding to her presence, her closeness, but for once his mind knew better and it seemed to be winning out.  She rolled her eyes and patted his chest before straightening and leaving the room.

He felt for the wall at his back, collapsing against it as soon as the door closed, needing the support. Shit.  Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. How had this even happened to him? Wasn’t he supposed to be immune to this kind of mind-melding magic crap?  Dwarven resistance his ass. Varric breathed deeply and wiped away the sweat that had collected on his forehead, his hand shaking ever so slightly.  Whatever this was it wasn’t real and he had to remember that. It felt real, it looked real, it smelled real but it wasn’t. There were a lifetime of memories swirling around in his head to prove it.  Memories that directly countered the events he had just witnessed. He knew his life, he knew his past as much as he lied about it and embellished it, it wasn’t about to be taken from him. He wouldn’t be tricked into believing this bullshit, and he wouldn’t give into what this world was offering.  He needed to fix this, change things back.

The room was stifling now.  Hot, stagnant air hanging heavy around him, it coiled on his chest, a weight pressing down and constricting his breathing.  It was making it hard for him to think, which was exactly what he needed to do. There were questions that needed answering, plans that needed forming.  There was work to be done, and it wouldn’t be done here. All in a rush he was exiting the room, following the curve of the hallway to stairs that led downwards.  He took them as quickly as possible, without care and found himself in the main floor of a tavern, one that looked not unlike so many others that he’d graced in his lifetime, if a bit more worse for wear.

The furnishings were no better than they had been in his room, broken and stained.  The air was just as hot, just as invasive. Flies buzzed across the table nearest him, stepping in and out of a glistening, sticky puddle of who knew what.  A man lay half slumped against the far wall, his head lolled against his chest and Maker preserve him he really hoped he was sleeping but he wouldn’t have doubted the alternative.  Aside from him there was only one other person in the room, the man behind the bar. Varric caught his eye and there was a bleakness there, a tired, drawn out desperation in his expression before the man cast his gaze to the floor and turned from him.  He’d seen his share of dives, hells he’d practically funded them but there was something so integrally off about this place that it unnerved him. The front door called his name and for the first time in his life he was thankful to be hearing voices.

A mid afternoon sun broke through a heavy cover of clouds above him.  A storm was rolling in and didn't that just seem perfectly ominous. If there had been any ounce of doubt in his mind before he was certain now, he was in Lowtown there was no mistake about that.  Lowtown was an acquired taste, one usually acquired through a long night of drinking. Until it no longer mattered that your every step stuck to the ground for a fraction of a second longer than normal.  Until the rancid smell of stale alcohol on your breath masked the rank odours that lingered on every shallow breeze. Until your vision blurred and the squalor and desperation that dwelled on every corner, on every stoop that you passed became scenery and nothing else.  At least that’s what he’d been told, to him it was home. It had never needed to be acquired it had been ingrained into him, much to his family’s dismay. He should have been ecstatic to be back. But given the circumstances it was yet another thing that had him on edge. 

Varric set out along the street, taking in his surroundings and getting his bearings.  He needed to find the Inquisition, get them a message at least. Solas was the one person he knew for sure that would have answers and possibly,  _ hopefully _ a way to fix this.  Thankfully big military organizations weren’t usually too difficult to find, and besides he didn’t oversee a spy network for nothing after all.  He may not be trained in the art of interrogation like some people, but he had his ways.

That was another question though wasn't it?  Where was the Seeker? Was she living out her own secret fantasy as well?  If she was he hoped that it had had a more pleasant result than his. But they had touched the damn thing together, did that mean they were here together?  In the same reality that was. Or were they existing parallel to one another? Had she even been affected at all? The pounding in his head from earlier was returning.  Maker’s balls this was the kind of shit you were supposed to write about, not live. There were too many variables and he was missing too much information to even begin to consider any of them.  He needed to find the Inquisition and get a message to Solas. He needed answers, and quite frankly, he needed Cassandra.

He hated to admit it, he really hated to admit it, but he was a follower.  He wasn’t the one calling the shots, or making the plans. He let others worry about all that and he just swooped in, tagged along for the ride, and occasionally the story.  But the Seeker would know what to do and how to do it and he would gladly follow her, without complaint. Well, with only minimal complaining, and wasn’t that a revelation for another time.  Varric shook his head and refocused. Finding Solas, that seemed like the right first step. If Cassandra had woken up as he had removed from her life she’d send word to the Inquisition, seek them out.  Assuming of course that she wasn’t already with them. Assuming of course that she was still, well... _ her _ .  Assuming of course that she’d want to reverse whatever the artifact had changed for her.  Varric’s concentration flickered for a moment and he stumbled, his feet catching on the ground.  It was a lot of assumptions, some with implications that he didn’t really want to think about at the moment.  Better then if he focused on what he could control.

Varric moved to continue on and found himself at the bottom of the steps leading to Hightown.  He hadn’t really been paying attention to the direction he was going, and it seemed that his body had taken him here, down a path he had wandered countless times.  Looking around he was surprised to see an empty marketplace, as empty as the streets had looked from his window earlier. What was going on? This was not normal. Then again, what was right now?  He ascended the stairs. 

The higher he got up the stairs the more he could see of Hightown rising before him, the outlines of familiar buildings their elaborate and sturdy construction only one of the various differences that marked the transition between districts.  The air around him which normally would have begun to thin retained its heaviness, just another signal of the incoming storm. Floral notes, pricked at his nose in an attempt to mask the ever present scent of Lowtown but only managed a weak cover.  A cloying sweetness that merely overlaid instead of absorbed. Varric rounded the top corner and far in the distance the broken remains of the Chantry still stood, looming over the city. What had once shone, gleamed in both sunlight and moonlight now stood darkened, and battered.  Soot, dirt, grime, remnants of the explosion that had rocked all of Thedas corrupted the once pristine towers. A daily reminder, a forcible, unavoidable reminder that the Chantry no longer stood as the immutable symbol of strength as it once had. Although maybe that sentiment was now claimed by what had happened at the Conclave.

Lost in thought Varric didn’t even realize at first that the gates at the top of the stairs were closed, and flanked on either side by guards.  Varric looked again. Not guards. Templars.

“And what do we have here?”  The Templars narrowed in on him with a keen precision, like vultures circling their next meal, waiting for it to die.

“Afternoon gentlemen.  Just on my way my to see the Champion.”  Hawke wouldn’t be there and he knew that but he wasn’t about to out and say why he had come.

“That’s a new one,” said the Templar on his left while the one on his right gave a patronizing huff.  “The excuses you people come up with. If you’re here to visit the Rose just say so, it would save us all a lot of time.”

“...Right.  The Rose, you got me boys,” Varric continued on quickly not letting their strange reactions phase him.  It had been a couple years but the name usually did carry with it some recognition. “So if you’d just—”  He waved his hand at the still closed gates. The Templars stepped back and opened them, and Varric moved forward with a feigned sheepish smile.  Before he could fully bypass the men a hand was on his shoulder, he did his best not tense unnecessarily under the grip. 

Varric looked up towards the man with his hand on his shoulder, the short smile on the man’s face did nothing to hide the contempt in his eyes.  The hand on him squeezed a little tighter. He wasn’t unaware of what was going on, he understood how these things tended to work, shakedowns as they were.  But Templars as guards? Templars as guards that were actively seeking commission, that was new. New and disturbing. Varric purposefully fumbled in his pocket for a moment, long enough to take in a decent image of the men on either side of him, then flicked a coin in the air.  The hand on his shoulder retreated, plucked the coin out of the air before it fell and returned to the man’s side. 

Without looking back, Varric continued on into Hightown. 

He had thought to head to the Keep, Aveline had the resources he needed to get a message out quickly and safely but now his curiosity was piqued.  So Varric veered his path towards Hawke’s estate. There were people about now, not many, not as many as there should have been but it relieved him at least a little bit to see other people where there had been none.  They moved in ones and twos but no more than that. Like the bartender at the tavern they kept their gazes downcast and to themselves. If he had to make a judgement call, which was admittedly one of his favourite pastimes, he’d say these people were anxious, and frightened.  He recognized those looks, he’d seen them before gracing the faces of the same people in the years past. A lot had happened in Kirkwall with the Arishok going rogue and the crackdown from a cracked out Knight-Commander and that was all years before Anders had taken it upon himself to bring about even more chaos on the city.  But things had been getting better. Or at least he had thought they had. 

The familiar sounds of steel on stone pricked at his ears and he turned, Hawke’s door at his back, towards the source of the noise across the courtyard.  The people around him had heard it too and like the frightened animals he had taken them to be, they scattered. Taking cues from them Varric slipped into the shadows and kept his eyes trained on the incoming noise.

It was of no surprise, given what he had already seen, when a troop of Templars marched into the courtyard.  No, the surprise came behind them in the form of two dead Qunari being dragged across the cobbles in their wake.  What in the Maker’s bloody name was happening in this city?

 

\---- 

 

It took Cassandra longer than she would have liked to come back to her senses, to calm down, and all the while Anthony stayed wrapped around her with a measured confidence bringing her back.  With two parts of herself at war, reluctantly she broke from his grasp. An almost violent movement in her indecision. Her breathing had steadied but her head was still muddled, how could it not be, faced with her present situation?  She had inadvertently brought her brother back from the dead! What else had she done? What else must have changed to allow for this blasphemous affront? For there must be changes, consequences. Small or large she could not fathom, but more than just the length of hair that weighed heavy against her back, there had to be. 

“Cassie,” he said her name slowly, softly and she balked internally.  It wasn’t just the nickname, or the sound of his voice it was the overwhelming familiarity that he exuded with her that riled her the most.  It seemed so foreign, a remnant of another life. No one had ever been as close to her as Anthony had and he spoke to her now unaware that for her nearly thirty years had passed since she had felt anything akin to that level of intimacy.  “Don’t do this, don’t shut down or be embarrassed. I’m sorry. We should never have come here. I know you said it was fine, but I should have known being back in Nevarra would be too much. I shouldn’t have pushed it.” 

Nevarra?  Cassandra took in her surroundings for the first time, open plains stretched out as far as she could see.  Sparse outcroppings of trees, and a smattering of hills not large enough to disturb the skyline the only defining features of the area.  It could have been any number of places had she not just been told of their locale. In her mind Nevarra was distinctly grey, its earth, its sky all bleeding into one monochromatic landscape.  She had not stepped foot in the country in years. She would have never chosen to come here willingly, and thankfully her duties had never asked her of it either. It was a shock all the same to realize that she was back, it paled however, in comparison to the shock of the man standing reborn in front of her.

“Look, we’ve got other offers.  Orlais, Antiva you can pick. Let this dragon be someone else’s problem.  If they’d been really serious about hiring us they would have paid us upfront.”  Could he mean? She turned away from him slightly and tried to discreetly look down at her chest, searching for the familiar emblazoned emblem of the Seekers.  Bare, polished steel glinted in the afternoon sun. A striking piece, high quality, well maintained but devoid of anything that could tie it to her position. Were they truly then, as they had played as children, dragon hunters?  Was she no longer a Seeker? Was it not merely that she had resurrected Anthony into her world, but that the world had crafted itself anew to allow for his continued existence? The implications of this possibility were multitudinous and her head began to swim again.

She needed to sit down.

“Please say something, we’re a bit old for the silent treatment,” he was pushing her, nudging ever so slightly with his words but he did not sound annoyed or angry with her bizarre behaviour.  She had questions, so many questions, but how could she ask them without raising suspicions or sounding crazed?

“I need… I need to rest.  I will give you an answer in the morning.”  She needed time, and there was still the possibility that she would wake from whatever this was.  Maybe morning would come again with Anthony still at her side, but maybe morning would see her safely back where she had come from.

“That’s all I’m asking.”  He looked visibly relieved.  “Let’s grab our stuff and head back to that town we passed yesterday.  We can secure travel from there and get out of this Maker forsaken place once and for all.”  

She could only hope.

With a final questioning look, a tacit exchange of understanding Anthony began walking away from her and she followed, slowly and at a distance.  She prayed for silence. She needed time to process what was happening to her, around her. What did she know? Anthony was alive, they were dragon hunters, they were in Nevarra, she was not a Seeker.  She tried to imagine this life, this new life that had formed around her. The people she knew, the connections she’d made, the relationships she’d formed what of them, did they even exist anymore? The Seekers, the Chantry, the Inquisition everything that had defined her life gone in an instant.  Could she reach out to those that she had known? Would they listen or understand? If she could find the Inquisition, find Solas, then maybe, all of this could be set right.

But she needed information and navigating all of this would take precision, finesse, not her normal forthright manner.  If the circumstances had been anything else she would have begun a sort of interrogation, collecting as much information as possible.  But she could not just come out and tell Anthony that he had been dead for nearly thirty years. That this existence was not real, but a fabrication of her mind, or a false reality crafted from magic and her own hubris.  No, she would need to pull from the training of her youth, flex muscles long since atrophied. She would need to choose her words carefully, strategically to garner as much information as possible without tipping her hand.  

The thought gave her pause, conjuring flickering images of warm nights crammed into the Herald’s Rest.  For weeks Varric had been trying to teach her Wicked Grace, she had proved to be a poor student not unwilling but apparently incapable of learning.  Varric would know, with his sly words and quick smiles, the right things to say. She relied too much on force, creating a wound and then aggravating it.  She did not manipulate or bluff as he did in all things, though he was convinced that she could. He’d told her as much, those nights when they sat just a little too close to one another.  When her limbs and lips were loosened with glasses of cheap Arbor reds and what passed as Antivan Brandy. 

Where was he now?  He had touched the artifact as surely as she had.  Was he somewhere in this world as well, alone and facing a reality inexplicably changed?  Or had the artifact created something completely different for him, yet another reality or plane of existence.  It gave her two options, find Solas or find Varric. Solas would have answers, but Varric… If there was a chance that Varric would be the man she knew.  Who shared her memories, who understood what she was trying to accomplish. An ally against whatever she had created. And if they sought out Solas together it would only strengthen their cause.  Find Varric then. Find Varric and together they would seek out answers, set things right. If there was even a chance that he was still the same,  _ her _ Varric as it were then she had no other option.  She would not leave him to flounder as she was.

If she was lucky he may even still be with the Inquisition.  Even if she had not been there to drag him along, surely Leliana would have at the behest of the Divine.  Her mood lifted just a fraction, her breath coming easier now. Now that she had had time to take stock of her situation, to parse through what was happening.  Maybe her situation was not as dire as she had thought. Things could not have changed that much.


	4. Chapter 4

Varric held his breath until the Templars and their conquests had passed through the courtyard, and even then he did not dare stir.  This was not the Kirkwall he knew, not the Kirkwall he had left certainly. Templar occupation? A Qunari threat? How could this have happened, and how would he not have known about it?  When it finally seemed as if the danger had well and truly passed he stepped out of the shadows and allowed his breathing to return to normal. He’d have to keep a much lower profile, he wasn’t about to step into something without knowing the full scope of the situation.  He’d already done that once today and look where that had gotten him.

The door to the Hawke estate didn’t look much different than he remembered.  If there had been cobwebs across it he wouldn’t have been surprised, it’s not like she’d lived there any time in the recent past.  But it was a place to start. With confidence he tried the handle, always best to look like you were meant to be somewhere, it drew less attention.  Even under protest the handle didn’t budge, and so with a steady, practiced hand Varric picked the lock. He was certain that Hawke wouldn’t mind in the least.

Stepping inside the door it was a moment before his eyesight adjusted to the darkness.  The air was musty, and smelled like the whole place needed a good airing out but that wasn’t unusual.  In fact it was pretty par for the course as far as Hawke was concerned. He crossed the entryway and headed into the rest of the house, his footsteps echoing off the tile floor.  It looked a little different than the last time he’d been there, furniture missing or moved. Hadn’t there been a painting on that wall before? And the casks on the second floor, where had they gone?  There was a sinking feeling that grew with every step he took, every room he checked. It wasn’t just one or two things out of place, it was all unfamiliar. Varric stopped at the door to Hawke’s room, hesitating before pushing the door open.  As his eyes travelled up from the floor his heart sank, where a bed had been stood a desk. Armoires were replaced with bookshelves. Above the fireplace where a shield bearing the Amell family crest should have hung there was a portrait of a man made indiscernible from rot and decay.  It felt like being sucker punched. This was not Hawke’s room. This was not Hawke’s estate. What the hells did that mean?

If asked he would have said that he left what he had known to be Hawke’s estate in a calm, dignified manner if a little perturbed.  In reality he fled, fled as fast as his sturdy dwarven legs would take him because he couldn’t stand to be in that place for one more second.  Ideas were beginning to form in his head, wild ideas, and worse,  _ plausible _ ideas.  Was this all connected?  The Templars, the Qunari, Hawke,  _ Bianca _ .  Had he done this?  Had changing one thing about his past somehow altered everything he knew of reality?  That couldn’t be true, he was one man. One unimportant, second son. No. There would be answers, rational answers he just had to find them.

The journey he made to the Keep was one of the fastest he had ever managed as he tried to keep his mind focused on the task at hand and not on crafting ridiculous theories to explain away what was happening around him.  There were Templars everywhere, lining the Viscount’s Way, standing at attention. That did not bode well. He came to a stop at the doors to the Keep and looked the Templars standing guard in front of them in the eye. A peel of thunder sounded in the distance and he felt a droplet of rain roll down his face, collecting on his lip.  His tongue flicked out to wipe it away before he opened his mouth to address the man and woman in front of him.

“I’m here to speak with the Guard-Captain,” he said confidently, confidence was key.  The woman peered down at him through the grate in her helmet. Even through the thin opening it provided he could see her eyes narrow.

“The what?  We’ll have none of your games here dwarf, on your way.”  There was an all too familiar disdain in her voice as she spoke.  Was it simply his presence that had garnered such a reaction, or was it the speaking while dwarf bit that had agitated her so?  In his experience, it was usually both.

“The Captain of the Guard, Aveline—tall redhead, looks like she could split a person in half with her bare hands, ringing any bells?”  It was creeping up within him again that same roiling feeling that had settled in his gut when he had first seen Bianca. Hadn’t he just decided to not walk into anything unprepared?  He could have kicked himself.

“He means that who up here, what, seven years ago?” her partner chimed in.

“Oh you mean the one who went to fight the Arishok?”  A spark of realization glinted in her eyes.

“That’s the one, got her head cut off she did.”  

Had either of the Templars been looking at him they would have seen him balk at the man’s words, a visceral, physical reaction that he was unable to forestall.  His mind halted momentarily, stunned unable to even work around what they were saying. It wasn’t—it couldn’t… They obviously didn’t know what they were talking about.  He wanted to prove them wrong but words had left him.

“No, you’re...you’re thinking of the wrong perso—Hawke, Hawke killed the Arishok.”  It was stuttered and ungainly when he finally managed to get anything out.

“Killed the Arishok?  What are you daft?” the woman said through a rolling laugh.  He was beginning to draw a crowd, Templars gathering around their display, listening in.  “The Arishok’s not  _ dead _ , took a licking right good.”  An approving rumble bubbled up from the people around him.  “Closed ranks though didn’t he, once the rest of them oxmen washed their hands of him.”

“But still trying after all these years,” said someone in the crowd that now almost encircled him.

“Heard we found a few more of them this morning.”  More voices were chiming in now, it was apparently a hot topic.

“You’d think they’d give up what with no support coming.  Wasting our time they are, diverting us from the real threat.”  More rumbles now, decidedly less approving. He needed to get out of here, wrap his head around what they were saying.  Aveline dead? That couldn’t be true. And the Arishok still alive… But Hawke? Thunder crashed again in the distance, getting louder.

“Why are you asking after someone long dead anyway?  There hasn’t been a City-Guard in years, not since the Knight-Commander installed us in their stead.”  The woman was eyeing him attentively while her counterpart questioned him.

“You know what, my mistake.  I was—I was thinking of someone else.”  The crowd behind him was thankfully dispersing, the others apparently losing interest in their conversation now that the talk of killing Qunari had passed.

“What is your name?” said the woman this time.

“My name?”  He pointed at himself trying to slip back into something more unassuming, less memorable.  “Vasca. Bogdan Vasca.” He cringed internally, that definitely wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

“And where are you from Bogdan Vasca,” she accentuated every syllable of the name, nearly spit it out at him.  

“Why Kirkwall of course.  But I’ve been away, travelling for uh...for some time,” Varric said with a fake smile plastered across his face, a feigned ignorance meant to disarm and disengage.

“And just where have you been travelling for so long?”  Varric felt his chances of a quick and easy departure slip further and further away with each question.  The cooling wind that licked at his back marked the absence of the familiar weight of Bianca that should have hung there.  He had no option but to talk his way out of this, out of Hightown.

“Deep Roads,” he said.  It seemed like the appropriately dwarvish answer.

“For seven years?”  The skepticism sounded plainly in her voice.

“...Yes,” he answered less confidently than he would have liked and a silence extended itself between them as they stared each other down.  The rain was falling heavier now, plastering his hair to his scalp. Plinking ridiculously off their armour. “Actually I should probably go see a healer or something”—he coughed into his fist—“you know with the Taint and all, can’t be too careful.”  The pair visibly recoiled away from him, the man going so far as to step a full two paces back. “So can I—” Varric gestured behind him.

“Take your leave dwarf and see that I do not hear from you again.”  She tried to maintain her sense of authority as she ordered him away, a difficult task when she so plainly could not bear to even breath the same air as him now.  With a nod Varric backed up from the Templars and slowly turned around, exiting the columned way with a steady measured gait even though every part of him was telling him to run.  

As soon as he was out of their eyeline his shoulders crumpled and he let the rain fall unhindered against him.  He had messed up, he had messed up big. Bigger than anything he had ever done. No City-Guard. No Aveline… No Champion?  He was having trouble even comprehending what that meant. What of the others? Had this stupid, Maker-cursed wish destroyed the lives of everyone he had ever held close?  Even if the particulars escaped him, he knew, he just  _ knew _ that he had done this, caused all of this.  Somehow.

It wasn’t real, he tried to remind himself.   _ This _ wasn’t real.  The thought repeated in his head over and over again, his lips silently working through the words without him even realizing.  This wasn’t real. This. Was. Not. Real. And he almost believed it.

 

\----    

 

Anthony kept looking at her, over his shoulder.  Turning back discretely to make sure that what? That she was okay?  That she was still there? She made a point to always be looking away when she saw his head turn, not yet ready to look him in the eye.  It was too unnerving, and it made her mind fumble for purchase, for some sort of solid ground. She wanted to walk with him, wanted to hear his voice, wanted to know and understand what his life had been.  What  _ their _ lives had been, together.  But she also did not want to give in.  It was a temptation sure enough but surely that was the point?  What magic simply gave without taking? What would she be agreeing to, what would she be giving of herself if she gave in to this offer?  

She would be leaving, she had to.  Once they found the Inquisition, once she and Varric found Solas she would return to what she had known and Anthony would… Well cease to exist she supposed.  Again. Her heart strained at the thought. He was here, here before her even if it had been through magic or artifice. She was being given an opportunity she had only ever dreamed of.  Something that she never thought possible, something that should never have been possible. Could she not then, just revel in what this was? A chance. An opportunity afforded to her against all odds, against all probabilities.  

She watched as the curve of Anthony’s neck arched, the tell-tale sign that he was about to turn around again.  If she was leaving, if she would be returning to reality,  _ her _ reality then maybe there was no harm in conceding a little.  Just a little, in the time given to her. His head turned once again and this time she did not look away.  Their eyes met and he smiled at her, a warm, loving, genuine smile. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt uplifted, unbound by years of grief, of solitude.  If this was a mistake, if this was the wrong decision so be it. The person who had meant the most to her in all her life, the one person she missed above anyone else stood before her now beckoning her to his side and she would not pass this over.  

Anthony dropped her gaze and turned his head away from her again, satisfied with a simple acknowledgement apparently, and she closed the distance between them.  Came to his side silently. He said nothing as she appeared but matched her gait, eying her surreptitiously. A confident rise of his lips let her know that he had thought he had won something in whatever game he had thought they were playing.  It should have annoyed her, it should have made her back straighten in defiance and contempt but it did not. Instead it brought a begrudging smile to her lips, and a lightness to her step. It was like relearning how to play an instrument long since retired.  She knew how, it was there in her subconscious buried deep. But it required tuning and practice after years of being left untouched, unused. The walls she had built around her had not been intentional. They had grown over the years, over her lifetime not as a means to keep others out but as a way to protect herself.  But now they stood between them, a distance where there should have been none.

She had prayed for silence but now she held a longing that he would say something, anything.  She wanted to, she yearned to speak with him but doubts and fears stilled her tongue. There were conversations that she wanted to have with him.  Conversations that had played out in her mind over and over again. It felt a betrayal to her faith how frequently she sought his opinion. Seeking it on all things where she should have sought guidance from the Maker.  Cassandra clenched her jaw, ground her teeth in aggravation. She was wasting time, wasting her opportunity. She was afraid of a misstep, of saying something that would make him question her, doubt her. But surely their lives could not have been so different, not in the things that truly mattered.  And those were the conversations that she most longed to have.

Let no one say that she was a coward.

“I miss them.”  Her voice broke the silence like a clean cut, one neat stroke.

“As do I.”  He took an exaggerated breath and she could not tell if he was ramping up to something or releasing something that had been building within him.  “I know you do not like to talk about...what happened, but that does not mean we can never talk about them. They were our parents Cassandra, they would not have wanted us to dwell on their deaths.”

“Do not think that they are not always with me, that I do not think of them as I should.  But it is difficult, it is...painful to imagine what I— _ we _ , could have had.”  It was hard for her not to conflate her parents deaths with Anthony’s.  In her mind, as a child, they were so closely linked happening nearly one after the other.  Though in truth there were years between the two events.

“I have often thought of what ours lives could have been.  It plagued my youth as you will well remember.” And she did.  As soon as he was of age Anthony had left their uncle’s, determined to make his own way.  In that time when she had seen him he was often dour, bitter as she would become not long after when the world had decided to take from her yet again.  “I was angry. At Markus, at Uncle, at everything and it did not take me long to realize that wallowing in what might have been was only making it worse.  I…” Anthony stopped suddenly and she was a pace beyond him before she realized that he was no longer at her side. There was a severity in his eyes when she turned to face him, a look that surprised her in its earnestness.  

“Anthony?”

“I have never told you this but...one summer I was returning to Uncle’s after hunting in the Silent Plains.  I was nearly upon his estate when a group of mages that had been seeking me out for some time finally caught up with me.”  Cassandra’s stomach clenched. She knew this story, how could she not? The mages had been blood mages, and they had murdered Anthony.  Struck him down in the gates of her uncle’s estate and before her very eyes. “They wanted dragon blood and I refused them. They attacked me, but by the grace of the Maker, and I thank him every day, I narrowly escaped with my life.”

“Why are you telling me this?”  The scene played so vividly in her mind that she swore she could still smell the blood on the air.  It had never left her, the sight of his lifeless body lying in the dirt. It came to her some nights fresh as the day it happened and she relived it again and again unable to do anything to stop it.  She was trembling now, her whole body quaked with an excess of emotion. Hearing him speak those words, knowing that for her it had gone so very differently.

“I am telling you this because it was at that moment that I stopped thinking of what might have been and instead began to realize what my life could be.  Because I had you. I realized that by yearning after a life that I could never have I had almost destroyed the one I was meant to.” Maker take her this was too much.  Old wounds, wounds with jagged, ugly scars were being reopened within her. Ripping and tearing apart in order to be relived. “Don’t cry Cassandra.” Was she? She lifted a hand to her cheek and felt the wet hot stream of her tears there.  “I will not say you were my salvation but only because I know you’d hate it. And you have never been a replacement for our parents, but you are the reason I am here today. So yes, I miss them too but they gave me the greatest gift I could have ever asked for and I have never wanted for more.”

There was so much raw emotion raging through her she could not pick one from another.  Sadness, terror, relief, guilt. This was the life she could have had, had but one thing been different.  Had but one life been spared. But it had not, and now she was an imposter in this world, in this man’s life.  He was her brother but she was not his sister. She was invading upon a life that she had no right to. How would he react if she told him, told him that she was not who he thought her to be?  Would he believe her? No, that was impossible how could anyone believe this, she hardly believed it herself. She had thought, hoped for a brief moment that all could be the same between them but this, this lie, this monumental falsehood would always be there.  A barrier as sure as the walls she had erected around herself.

“Now, if there was anything you had ever wanted to tell me, some deep-seated secret that has been eating away at you this would be the time.”  Cassandra stared at Anthony her eyes wide. No, he could not know. “Say, like how you were the one who broke the horns off of Uncle’s prized dragon skull even though I was blamed for it,” his voice lilted innocently and she almost laughed out of sheer relief,  _ almost _ .

“We are done sharing,” she said dryly and let the brief moment of terror in her heart recede.

“Wh—hey now, I just bared my heart to you, you can’t even give me that?” he said with an incredulous laugh.

“I cannot and I will not, you ass.”  His brow furrowed in annoyance.

“Now that’s a little harsh, I know it was you.”

“Fool then,” she mocked and he grumbled something in response too low for her to hear before starting to walk again.

“You are more stubborn than any dragon Cassandra, and I would know.”  She fell into step next to him and mimicked his earlier smile for it was a victory to her.  A brief return to something long since passed. He rolled his eyes when he saw her grinning but said nothing.

They came upon their campsite not long after and quickly gathered their belongings.  She let Anthony take the lead, make the first movements so as not to do something out of the ordinary and soon they were on their way again.  It seemed as if the plains stretched out forever in front of them, an expanse of land that did not waver in its monotony. She was not sure where in Nevarra they were, in her youth they had not strayed much further than the countryside just on the edges of Nevarra City.  Once, they had travelled as a family up the Minanter River. She remembered sailing underneath the bridge that spanned it, connecting either side to the Imperial Highway. Its white stone radiating even in the dullness of the morning’s sky. Until she joined the Seekers it had been the furthest she had ever travelled in her life.

It could not have been more than an hour until the horizon finally changed, and she could see shapes forming, crude outlines of a city in the distance, growing closer.  She was eager to be there, to ask questions, find answers away from Anthony’s ear. Near enough now to make out the individual buildings she realised that it could barely be called a city as it was, though it was likely the only point of civilization in leagues.  A road ran into it from the opposite direction that they had come and she could see a steady stream of people and carts heading into the city. Odd for there seemed to be many and the city did not look that large, not large enough to house half of them at least. Anthony had noticed as well.

“It does not bode well if the refugees are coming here.  Then again, they may do better than the thousands covering the highway, Maker forbid Nevarra closes its gates.”  Refugees, here? In this number? “Travel may be harder to come by then I had thought, we’ll be lucky if there are any ships out of Cumberland at all.  It may be Antiva by default, but we’d have to go north, bypass the Free Marches altogether.” He was talking mostly to himself now, working over ideas, discarding them almost as soon as he said them outloud.  It didn’t make sense for there to be this many people here seeking refuge, not when the threat had not yet reached their shores. And they were certainly from the area, those who came with carts full of possessions.  It was obvious that they had not crossed the Waking Sea. Then where were they fleeing from?

“Kirkwall will have ships if Cumberland does not,” she said in haste.  They could not go to Antiva, it was the exact opposite of the direction she needed to be travelling in.

“Now that is a poor joke sister, even if we were not surrounded by its citizens.  I had not thought it this bad. And I do not mean to sound, well... _ blasphemous _ ,” his voice quieted, for her ears alone though they were paces from the nearest person now.  “But it does make one wonder whether the Divine is being as truthful as one would think.”

“The Divine?”  Had they already elected someone new?  Her Chantry still lay in ruins, those with any power squabbling over rights and procedures.  Unable to agree on anything except their contempt for the Inquisition.  __

“I would not put it past Augustine.”  Augustine? “But what can you expect from a woman raised in turmoil.  Chaos only feeds her rhetoric, keep the people frightened and she gains more and more leniencies with her agenda.”  She was lost and her face must have shown it. “I...I sound like Mother don’t I. You usually stop me before I get treasonous.”

“No.  I mean...continue, please.”  She needed to understand.

“I’m only saying that if the people in Orlais and Ferelden knew just how serious things remained over here, just how devastating this Exalted March has been they may decide to push harder for a resolution.”  An Exalted March? Maker she could barely believe what she was hearing, how could this have happened? “It has been seven years and still the Templars hold Kirkwall, advance across the Free Marches with impunity.  Antiva has already begun preparing their forces and I do not doubt Nevarra has as well. And Augustine does nothing but propel them as they hunt for every last mage—and I know that they blew up the Kirkwall Chantry but that was one man.  Yet it became an excuse for this eradication.”

The events he was talking about were similar to what she knew yet so vastly different, and the timing was so very off.  Anders had blown up the Chantry four years ago, not seven. And the Templars had not stayed, not after Knight-Commander Meredith was defeated by Hawke.  “I only mean to say that if it were any other Divine we may not have seen such bloodshed. Though I suppose it was inevitable,” Anthony said with a heavy sigh.  “You can’t have expected them to elect someone _ pro-magic _ after the last one was assassinated by blood mages.”

He did not mean—“Beatrix?” the name came strangled and choked from her mouth.

“Gone too soon, truly.  And I’m not just saying that because of what we ended up with.”  

No, that could not be.  They had stopped them. She had… An iciness crept up her skin and settled into her chest, gripping at her heart.  She had fought with them, Regalyan and the Mages and they had defeated the plot against Beatrix’s life. She, a young Seeker barely out of training.  

But she was not a Seeker here.  

No.  She refused to believe, or even deign to consider it.  She was but one woman, and there had been others, so many others.  It was a title she had fought against her entire life,  _ Hero of Orlais _ .  It had never been just her.  But she had never considered that without her, the chain of events might have been different.

Beatrix dead, and this Augustine raised in Justinia’s place.  She could only imagine the state of the Circles, the fates of apostates under someone given full authority to persecute mages.  It would have been Meredith all over again, but unfathomably worse. Is that then why the timeline was off? Had events merely been pushed forward under a tyrannical reign left unchecked, encouraged even?  Her head was spinning trying to keep up with the leaps her mind was making. Not grand, unfounded leaps but logical ones. Terrifying ones.

Justinia gone.  Not gone, but never even raised.  What then of the Conclave? What of… She felt it as the colour drained from her face, as the icy grip in her chest spread across her body, numbing it.  

“Cassie?”  Anthony looked at her with an expression of surprised concern.

“The Inq—Inquisition.  What of the Inquisition?”  She should not be asking this, not so blatantly.  But she had to know, know that they were safe. That they existed at all.  Her future depended on it.

“The what?”

“Where are they?” she nearly cried out.

“Are you alright?”  He reached for her and she jerked away from his outstretched hand.

“Tell me Anthony!  Where are they?” She could not quell the panic in her voice, she could not afford the time it would take to compose herself.  She had to know.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Cassandra, the only Inquisition I have ever heard of is of history.  Ages ago. Are you sure you’re alright?” The concern remained in his eyes.

“No.  No, I am not.”

  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Varric dragged himself out of Hightown in a daze, trudging through puddles that had already rapidly formed on the ground.  Twisted, muddy water spilled in through shoddy seams in his boots but he barely noticed. He was brought back to those first few moments after the Conclave had erupted and panic and confusion had spilled out onto the snow covered grounds of Haven.  He’d watched as the world continued to turn slowly around him but he had stood still, silent in disbelief, waiting for it to pass. Waiting to come back to the world and for the green lights streaking across the sky to disappear. Waiting, for everything to make sense again.  It hadn’t.

There were no green lights this time, no earth shattering explosion, no panic and screams from the people around him.  No, this time it was only happening in his head. It wasn’t streaks of light but flashes of images, of faces and events that he could no longer count on.  There were no explosions, no panicked screams except those resounding in his head as his mind rebelled against what he was seeing, against what he was being told. 

Aveline dead.  The Arishok alive.  The Champion, Hawke...what?  Forgotten? Nonexistent? How could this have happened, how would something so small as him marrying Bianca have turned into this?

A patch of uneven ground sent Varric stumbling, his hands and knees sank deep into the slick mud and strands of already sopping hair pitched forward, falling into his face.  He should get up. The mud was seeping through the fabric of his clothes, he could feel it cold and gritty in between his fingers. He should get up, he thought again, but he didn’t move.  His chest heaved with every breath, in and out, laboured and shaky. There was too much to consider. Was Hawke dead or alive? What would have prevented her from standing against the Arishok?  His thoughts were jumbled, an unfocused mess. There were larger issues to consider, the Templars, the Qunari, the fate of Kirkwall but they were secondary at the moment. Everything in his mind was coming back again and again to the fates of his friends.  Hawke, Aveline, Bethany, Merrill, Isabela, Fenris...Anders?

Varric tried to push the hair from his face with the backs of his gloves before giving up and running a mud covered hand across his face and through his hair.   The motion left a dark streak emblazoned across his nose and cheek. Slowly he rocked back onto his heels, pushing the tips of his boots even further into the ground.  It made no difference to him now, he was already soaked through completely what difference did a little more dirt make. He closed his eyes and took one last deep breath before attempting to stand.  His knees creaked in protest and the ground shifted underneath him. He planted a hand on the ground for support and tried again. 

He was nearly fully upright before there was a force from behind and Varric found himself face down in the mud once again.  On his stomach this time, his hands pinned beneath him. The force pushed again and he struggled to turn his face before being submerged in the muck even further.

“Must be our lucky day boys.  Looky who we found,” a voice rumbled from above him.  Gruff and mocking. 

Shit.

“Heard some crazed dwarf was causing a scene uptown, description sounded a lot like our old friend Varric.  But I said to my men I said, that can’t be  _ our _ Varric, he knows better than to show his face in our territory.  He’s smart, I said, knows what we’d have to do to him if we saw him.  But here you are, colour me surprised.”

It was of little comfort to realize that it apparently didn’t matter what he did in life, marry Bianca or not, he was always going to be trailed by thugs and assassins.  That probably said something about his character that he didn’t really have time to think about at the moment.

“Well you caught me boys,” he managed to eek out.  It was an endeavour just to talk at all with the weight of what he assumed was a dwarf on top of him.  Each movement of his lips eased mud dangerously closer to filling his mouth. But it was his only weapon, and some would say his most dangerous.  “Just trying to get your attention was all, wanted to send the old man a message,” he lied, hedging his bets against who had sent them. 

The boot on his back pushed down again, he felt the pain jolt up through his spine.  His face sunk even further into the ground and he closed his eye against the mud now coating one side of his face entirely. 

“A message eh?  Bartrand don’t wanna hear anything you’ve got to say.”  They were Bartrand’s men? Well that was new, not in the least bit surprising, but new nonetheless.  “You made your choice. Gave it all up for some whore—” It was hard to make out with the man preaching above him, and through the sound of the rainfall, not to mention the mud that had already clogged one of his ears, but it was there, a faint familiar whistling through the air.  “Not that I can blame you, we’ve all been there—” He felt something heavy hit the ground near to him and the man above him petered off mid sentence.

“Oh no, do go on.  Really, I’d love to hear this,” called a voice in the distance.  Bianca. He’d have sighed in relief if it wouldn’t have resulted in a mouthful of dirt.

“Aye Serrah, we ain’t here for you run along and we’ll have him back to you in one piece.  Mostly.”

“We?” she questioned, a well known layer of sarcasm in her voice.  Varric tried to look around with his one unencumbered eye but couldn’t see much of anything.  But he suspected now that the tremor he had felt was one of the lackeys getting laid out neatly and efficiently by the excellent shot he knew Bianca to be.  If the earlier whistling had been what he’d thought it was. A low growl from above him confirmed his theories, it was just the three of them now.

The boot on his back slid from its place and he was dragged roughly up from the ground by the neck of his coat.  Bianca stood at the other end of the alleyway, a crossbow not unlike his own pointed directly at them. 

“Let my husband go,” she said, her voice dark and determined.  Oh. Varric felt something hot and dizzying bloom deep within him.  This was doing things for him. It shouldn’t have, it really shouldn’t have, but he’d gone his whole life fighting for Bianca.  For every clandestine moment, for each touch, each look, but never, never had she fought for him. The look in her eye, the set of her jaw held a ferocity he had never seen in her.  Held a passion and a possession he hadn’t thought possible. Was this what their marriage could have been? Minus the currently being held captive bit of course. A feeling, deep and fiery slithered into his side, and for a brief moment he thought it might have been his rational side having its say before the pain crept in as well and he realized belatedly that he’d just been stabbed.  

“Off you go then dwarf.  Go home to your whore wife,” the voice growled deep in his ear before the man shoved him hard.  Varric stumbled forward narrowly missing the shot Bianca took off into the dark behind him. 

“Fuck.  Missed him.”  Her eyes looked past him as he staggered towards her, hand gripping the wound in his side. 

Bianca lowered her crossbow and stepped further into the alleyway to meet him.  He gravitated towards her, his feet carrying him til he was close enough to touch her, pull her to him which was exactly what he wanted to do at that moment.  He wanted to feel her against him, surround himself with the comforting embrace of safety. Instead, Bianca punched him in the shoulder.

“Andraste’s tits Bianca,” he cried out and clutched at his side protectively.  “I’ve just been stabbed, give a man a break.” A mixture of surprise and worry flashed across her face before it settled again into the annoyed expression she had had standing at the mouth of the alleyway, bargaining for his life. 

“Serves you right you stupid man.  Hightown? What were you thinking? If I hadn’t been back early you could have…”  He saw her lip tremble slightly before she turned from him and walked off. He trailed after her, his steps slow in the mud, his side lancing in pain with each step.

“A lapse in judgement.”  Her scoff in response was just shy of a growl. 

“Whatever, just...where are we staying?”  He followed in quick with a response, wanting to get her off the scent of his apparently sudden complete diversion from the norm.

“I was just on my way to the Hanged Man.”  Bianca jerked to a stop in front of him, turning with a look of disbelief written on her face. 

“And so the lapse continues.”  The heat that he had felt in his gut moments before was turning cold again, withering into something familiar, something lifeless.  “You know we can’t go there Varric! It’s too obvious.”

“Obvious to whom Bianca?  The people who just jumped me?  I think they know we’re here.” She had a point, no need to make it any easier for them and apparently his association with the Hanged Man rang true even in this reality.  But it was his home, and he needed some element of the familiar right about now. “Please Bianca.” He had no way of knowing if it would work, him pleading, but after a long moment her face softened and she gave a shallow almost imperceptible nod.  

 

\---- 

 

It wasn’t his usual room but it would do.  A hot meal and what passed as a warm bath in this place had brought him back to himself if only for the moment.  Enough to concentrate on what was happening around him with a clear mind for the first time. Everything was a mess but he needed to start piecing things together.  He’d married Bianca and somehow that had resulted in Hawke not becoming the Champion, in Aveline possibly taking her place and certainly losing her life for it. That explained why the Qunari were still a threat, but not the Templar occupation.  Nor the barren, desolate streets of the city. 

Even the Hanged Man had changed, it hadn’t been hard to notice the moment he’d walked through the door.  The atmosphere was wrong, the people were sullen. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be rowdy and rough but there had always been a sense of loyalty an allegiance of sorts.  Now it felt like if a brawl broke out people would be playing for keeps.

Varric rested his chin in his hand and felt a dried flake of mud under his finger, scratchy and tight against his skin.  His plan hadn’t changed, even with all the new information. Getting at least a message to the Inquisition was still his first step even if it would be a little more difficult now.  Evidently he did not have the same resources he once had, not even the underground ones. How could he when what seemed like the entire city had up and vacated. Find Solas, find the Seeker and get everything sorted.  His absent-minded scratching raked across his chin harder than he meant to, scraping the skin just this side of raw. He winced and dropped his hand to the table.

It hadn’t seemed like such a daunting task that morning but now, now he was not so sure.  Of himself, of anything. There was a lot riding on this idea, finding the Inquisition and with all that he had seen today he was only just beginning to understand how easily, how quickly things could go wrong, how things could change.  The ramifications of his own choices had been beyond anything he could have ever imagined. They ballooned, larger and larger with each new piece of information he picked up. He had never thought himself that important but now he couldn’t help but think that there was a chance that all he was searching for wouldn’t be what he was looking for at all.  It sat solid in his gut a constant, niggling ball of fear and worry. It wasn’t a sensation he was used to and he wanted it gone as soon as possible. But when he thought of the alternative, having it replaced by his feelings, or whatever they were for Bianca he was glad to have it there. A barrier of sorts, that could keep him from making a world of bad decisions.  Or worse decisions than he had already made he supposed. 

The door creaked behind him and speak of the demon.

“I was able to find someone downstairs, not exactly trustworthy but desperate enough.  We should have eyes and ears for tonight at least.” This was their life now apparently.  Always on the move, always looking behind their backs. Living a life of constant fight or flight.  It was exhausting and he’d only been at it one day. But their marriage had pissed off a lot of people.  Her parents had always hated him, but it looked like wedded bliss had been enough to push Bartrand over the edge as well if tonight had been anything to go by.  He could guess why, it was a stain on his sterling reputation most likely. A blemish on his track record when all he wanted was favour with the more affluent and influential families.  Couldn’t keep associating with someone who was a walking social blight. Cut them out of the family, permanently if possible it seemed.

His relationship with Bartrand had always been...tense?  Turbulent. No that wasn’t the right word either. Shit. Their relationship had always been shit, but they mustered on if for the sake of their mother.  And he had been there when it counted. Not Bartrand for him of course, but him for Bartrand. It had been the right choice, not to kill him when the madness had overtaken him, it wasn’t something he regretted.  But apparently his brother had not thought to extend him the same courtesy now that their situations were reversed and he was at his brother’s mercy. Though this wasn’t the first time was it, Bartrand had tried to leave him in the Deep Roads all those years ago.  Which really begged the question, how was Bartrand still functional enough to control anything? He should have been in full throws of the sickness now, incapable of barely any basic function. Unless...unless he hadn’t had any contact with the red lyrium at all.

“How’s Bartrand?”  He turned only his head towards Bianca, not wanting to shift his whole upper body and aggravate his fresh wound.

“What?”  Bianca was sat on the bed the crossbow in her lap.   _ Her _ crossbow he had learned, a Bianca for Bianca, and none for him.  At least not the one he wanted.

“Is he doing okay?  Mentally?” Not even remotely subtle of him but he could blame it on the events of the night if he had to. 

“I guess?  We’re not exactly on speaking terms him and I but he’s not a raving lunatic if that’s what you’re asking.  I mean, no more than he’s always been.” She returned to her work, her fingers dancing across the wood and brass.  “What brought this on, you hate talking about him.”

“Ah, it’s nothing.”  She hummed in response without looking up and he was thankful for her lack of interest.  

So Bartrand was fine apparently, that could only mean that he hadn’t been affected by the red lyrium which could really only mean that hadn’t had any contact with it at all.  Which now that he thought about it wasn’t much of a surprise, he hadn’t been the one to find it. It’d been Hawke and himself. 

Like being hit with a stray bolt of magic connections suddenly leapt to the forefront of his mind ricocheting, sharp and quick.

The Deep Roads, that’s where everything had really begun.  If Bartrand hadn’t been talking to him because of Bianca, more likely actively shunning him, then he never would have been involved with the expedition.  And if he wasn’t involved then neither was Hawke, he had been the one to recruit her. No Varric, no Hawke, no red lyrium. Well at least there was one good thing in this reality, if red lyrium hadn’t made its way to the surface that was something to be thankful about.

No expedition then, which meant that Hawke never made her wealth and what?  Never recovered her homestead? Never became a member of influence? Never became the Champion of Kirkwall?  It was a stretch but it wasn’t the most unlikely thing he’d come up with today. Of course, he could always just ask.  He wished now that he hadn’t asked about Bartrand, one out of the blue question was one thing, but two? That was pushing it.  He chewed at the inside of his cheek before grudgingly giving into himself, who else could he ask anyway?

“Do we have any parchment, I thought I’d write Hawke.”  Bianca’s hands stilled and she looked up which wasn’t exactly the reaction he had been hoping for.  Where was the feigned interest when you needed it?

“Who?”  

“Hawke,” he repeated.  She continued to stare at him blankly.  “Marian,” he said her name slowly already getting a sinking feeling in his stomach.  It quickly settled next to the fear that was already residing there. 

“Are you alright?  You’ve been acting really strange today?”  Her words were those of concern but the expression in her eyes was questioning.  He didn’t want to ask again, didn’t want to keep drawing attention to something that was evidently going to bring about some sort of interrogation upon him, but he had to be sure.  It was too important to him. 

“Marian and Bethany Hawke, sisters.  I’ve never mentioned them before?” He kept his voice light his face unassuming. 

“No, you haven’t,” her voice darkened.  Fuck. The sinking feeling had begun to co-mingle with the fear and worry that had nested itself within him.  This was not a change he was strong enough to face.

“Oh, really?  I could have sworn—knew them when I was younger.  Just feeling a little sentimental tonight is all, what with the visit from Bartrand on my mind.  No big deal, they’ve probably forgotten all about me anyway.” He turned away from her no longer trusting that he could hold a steady face.  

He did not know Hawke.  This world’s Varric at least, this world’s Varric did not know Hawke.  The most important person in the world to him. His better half. Fuck it, his better whole.  He knew it was crazy to attribute such significance to one person, hells he’d lived a whole lifetime before even meeting her.  But the last ten years had been nothing short of an entire lifetime by her side. And now he’d replaced her, with Bianca of all people.  He wanted to laugh, if to keep him from weeping like a child which is what he felt like doing.

“Have you been drinking?”  Bianca’s voice broke through his concentration and it took him a moment to even comprehend what she was asking him, what she was implying.  His thoughts far too consumed with his entire world upending itself for the second time in one day.

“...What?”

“Answer me Varric.  Have you been drinking?  Because honestly I can’t come up with one other reason as to what has gotten into you today.  Going to Hightown. Talking about your brother, feeling  _ sentimental _ .  It’s like I don’t even know you?”  He turned to face her again, ignoring the shooting pain as his body shifted, a denial ready on his lips.  “We’ve talked about this Varric, you know what it does to you. And you...you said never again, you keep saying never again—and I know I encouraged you last night but that was supposed to be a one time thing because we needed the money I never would have if I’d thought—if I’d known…”  The worry and concern that was in her voice did not match the look in her eyes, they were hard, sharp almost piercing. Bianca was a good liar, could spin tall tales with the best of them but she’d never been that great of an actor. He’d blindly believed her in the past, with eyes clouded by want and love but he’d learned his lesson.  The hard way. 

Maybe his own features betrayed him at the thought of her many betrayals, or maybe he hadn’t shown the remorsefulness, the guilt that she had expected but in an instant all pretense fell from her face.  “You’re just like her you know.” The tenor of her voice turned cold and emotionless, the look in her eyes remained the same. “You think you’re not but you are.” 

It was like facing down every lie he had ever told himself.  Every errant thought that he had stashed away somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind.   _ You’re just like her _ .  He didn’t need to ask who, he knew.  He knew all too well because it was something he had been running from his entire life.  His mother, the drunk.  His mother the cruel, unfeeling woman that had barely raised him.  The second son, the  _ surface dwarf _ .  It had been in her eyes every time she looked at him.  Painted on her face as sure as the scent of liquor on her lips.  Bianca knew this she had to, his Bianca did. He had confided in her once, back when he had thought them meant for each other, inseparable.  Kindred spirits against the harsh realities of the surface world. He had made that mistake once and never again. No one got the truth about him, not anymore, not even Hawke.  The thought of Hawke caused his mind to flinch bringing him back to the cold gaze of the woman before him. His wife. His wish.

The words had come from her so casually, so easily.  Practised, rehearsed. Picked solely for their purpose, to maim, to hurt.  This was what he had fucked over the world for. This is what he had lost Hawke and Aveline and who knew what else for.

Varric pushed himself away from the table he was sitting at, the previously sharp pain of the stab wound fading to a dull throbbing as his mind centred on another pain all too real.  He paused for a moment before standing up, for what he didn’t know. An apology? It seemed unlikely. But he gave her the chance, the chance to say something, anything to try and take back her words.  But nothing came. Varric stood and silently left the room. Bianca did nothing to stop him. 

Varric walked past his old room at the other end of the hall, the door was closed and light spilled out onto the landing from underneath it.  Occupied, and not by him because why not. He didn’t take the time to stare and wallow and instead headed downstairs. He took a seat at a table by himself, his back to the wall.  It was too dangerous to leave and really where could he go, what could he do right now? Lost as he was, alone as he was.

The sound of something hitting the table brought his eyes up from his hands.  The barkeep stood across from him, a tankard between them. 

“The usual,” he said before returning to the counter.

Varric stared at the drink, contemplated its dented mug and the implications of having a  _ usual _ at all.  Many found solace at the bottom of an empty mug and he knew what they saw there, what his mother had seen there.  Though it had never been a mug for her, never anything so pedestrian. He could smell it from here, whatever it was.  Strong, pungent, repulsive. He eyed the other patrons in the room, each nose deep in their own equally worn mug and pulled his closer.

 

\---- 

 

Cassandra stared at the dark amber liquid in the mug in front of her, watching as the dim light played across the surface.  Losing herself in the reflections and in the constant hum of the noise around her. The deafening commotion of the inn they were in had ceded to a dull roar in her ears, muted as if she was in another room altogether.  She felt dazed, removed from her surroundings but not unaware, no, she could not escape the knowledge of what was happening around her. What had happened because of her.

She had wished for Anthony’s life to be spared, and in doing so she had changed the face of Thedas immeasurably.  War raged across the map with no end in sight. No longer just Templars versus Mages but the Chantry itself backing it.  The Chantry now an institution almost unrecognizable to her in its power, with a bigoted leader who apparently courted extremism as her doctrine.  And what of Corypheus? Red Lyrium? Rifts? But she was too afraid to ask now, having given too much away in her momentary lapse of judgement. The Inquisition did not exist, the Conclave had never happened.  What then of Corypheus’s plans? What then of the Herald?

Something bumped their table and her drink sloshed over the sides of the mug spilling across her fingers, breaking her from her trance.  Like waking up she came back to herself and saw Anthony staring at her from across the table with a sober look of concern written across his face.

“Are you certain that you do not require a Healer?”  She could not blame him for his doting, she must have sounded hysterical to his ears.  Yelling, raving about things that apparently did not exist. She had brushed off the idea of aid when he had first asked her, and she would again now. It was the fourth time he had asked her, but not once had he asked for her to explain herself and for that she was grateful.  For she had no explanation, not one that she could say to him at least.

“No Anthony.  Sleep, I need sleep.”  He nodded his head begrudgingly and drained the rest of his mug, she had not touched hers.  The inn they were in was full, overly full in fact as were all of the others in town. That they had secured a room at all was miraculous though she suspected it had nothing to do with miracles and everything to do with the extra coin they had been able to provide.  She would just have sooner slept outside like so many others but Anthony would hear nothing of it. Not tonight, he had said, not until you are better, is what she had heard.

They left the common room together, making their way up a thin steep staircase to the second floor the sounds of drinking and laughter following them.  Their room wasn’t small but it felt it now that it was just the two of them. A bed on either end, a wash-table between them but they could have been standing right on top of one another for all the perceived space the four walls provided.  Laying her pack on the ground at the foot of the furthest bed Cassandra methodically removed her armour. Anthony still had not said anything, had not questioned her, asked her to explain herself but the expectation was there. It hung heavy in the air between them.  Her fingers stumbled over buckles and ties that she was unfamiliar with and she hoped that he did not notice, though she knew his eyes were on her.

Heavily she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots.  She just wanted to lay down, rest her head and in the morning wake in her tent freezing from the cold morning air rolling off the Frostbacks.  But that seemed a fantasy now, just as this had at first. And did she truly want to leave Anthony so soon? Guilt wracked her, sprouting from all sides.  That she should have brought this world to the brink all for one man. That she was still considering letting it linger, the suffering of so many others so that she could spend what, hours more with her brother?  It was a question of conscience a moral dilemma like none other that she had ever faced. And she knew, she knew all too well that her wants and desires were nothing when compared to the state of practically the entire world, but that did not make the choice, the solution to this situation any easier to bear. 

If this would be over soon.  If by the Will of the Maker she would wake tomorrow in familiar surroundings with nothing but new memories to hold onto then she would not waste what had been given to her.  Quietly, purposefully she set her boots on the ground and took a steadying breath keeping her eyes focused on the other end of the room, Anthony in her peripheral. 

“Anthony.”  She broke the silence between them and out of the corner of her eye she saw him still, his hands freeze mid task.  “I would ask that you grant me time. I cannot give you an explanation, a reason for my actions just yet but should the future allow it, I will.”  It was a promise that she had no way of knowing whether or not she could keep. “Please put it from your mind, for tonight at least so that we may be as...as we were.”  Maker take her for this moment of selfishness when she had lived a life pledged to others, given herself to a higher power. It had not been an easy decision, but it had been hers and she so very rarely regretted it. 

“If that is what you wish,” he said, and she tried not to flinch from the word which had taken on meaning so far beyond that which she had ever given it.  The look on his face told her that he wanted to say more, but he stayed silent, waiting. 

“Let us speak of...less uncertain times.”  A questioning look flashed across his face, with a slight narrowing of his eyes.  She rushed in with an explanation, something to keep him satisfied. “It is being back here, it has made me...sentimental.”  She suppressed a heavy sigh, already this was taxing. Had it been mistake to talk at all?

“To be expected I suppose.  I feel it too, if that helps at all.”  The questioning look on his face receded and Anthony returned to his task.  Encouraged by his reaction Cassandra pressed on.

“Do you remember the gardens outside Mother’s window?” 

“Do you mean the ones you destroyed when you were told you could not quit your dance lessons?”  She smiled for that had not been the memory she was recalling. She often thought of the delicate white and yellow flowers outside her mother’s window, how they had swayed listlessly, freely in the summer air.  How they had stood so clearly against the colourless skies. But yes, she had destroyed them hadn’t she? Meticulously beheading all she could get her hands on before she had been found out. Had it been because of dance lessons?  She didn’t remember exactly but it rang true to her ears. She had been a willfully stubborn child, not something she had ever really truly grown out of.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” she said with a quiet smile. 

Minutes, then hours ticked by and Cassandra relaxed inch by inch into easy conversation, into reminiscing on days gone past.  Anthony spoke freely, openly of their past with little prompting. There were stories she knew by heart, unchanged, and new stories that she had never heard that she eagerly took in, committing to memory.

It was deep in the night before either of them fell asleep, first Anthony then herself.  She watched him slumber, memorized the picture of peacefulness that he displayed on his face.  The calmness, the happiness of a life well lived, of a fulfilled life, a full life, that he had always deserved yet never had.  And with a prayer to the Maker, a thank you for what had been granted to her, Cassandra finally let sleep take her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably a good time to bring up that I've never been able to get my hands on The Exiled Prince which is why Sebastian is not mentioned in this. I don't know enough about his character to feel like I could have planned out his alternate timeline so I just left him out should anyone be wondering why he wasn't mentioned by Varric.


	6. Chapter 6

His neck hurt.  His back hurt. His side more than hurt, it wheezed in its pain, throbbing and constant.  He was too old for this, waking up doubled over on a table, his face sticking to the tabletop in a mixture of stale alcohol and his own drool.  Varric tried to sit up fully but his shoulders hunched in on themselves and he tried and failed to ease a knot out of the middle of his back. Well, shit.  Was this his life now? He was still here after all, in this other time and place. Not that he had expected anything different when he had finally caved to his body's needs and slept uncomfortably at the table he had overtaken the night before.

The mug of ale, made even more unappealing having sat out the entire night, mocked him from its spot on the table in front of him as it had the evening previous.  He’d lost a good hour the night before staring at it, into it, and contemplating the choices he had made in life. The choices he was yet to make. But he hadn’t touched it, not one drop and he was thankful for the willpower that he had evidently been able to muster even in his fit of darkness.  It had been a tough night and he suspected his day wasn’t about to get any better.

Varric stretched as well as he could, ignoring the creaking and popping of his joints.  There were things to be done, people to see, fates to be decided. It wasn’t like time was of the essence, but he certainly didn’t want to spend a moment longer in this disturbing excuse for a reality than he had to.  

Varric’s eyes lingered on the stairs leading to the rooms above.  Was Bianca still up there? Had she even looked for him in the night?  He both wanted and did not want to know. It shouldn’t matter to him, what she thought, how she acted, what they had...none of it was real.   _ She _ wasn’t real.  But her words still rang in his head, mocking him, digging away at him, inescapably.  Was this but one eventuality? Was there a world in which they were happily married? Free of whatever it was that haunted them constantly.  Or was this an inevitability? Would their lives have always culminated in this wretched mess? Two people for whom love was just not enough to sustain them.  He couldn’t even bring himself to deny how right that felt. That everyone around them, Bianca herself included had always known what he had not, they had never been meant for eachother.  In passing, in the heat of night, in the warmth of an embrace, that was what they had had. But it was not everlasting, it was mutually assured destruction. A life of hardships, resentment, and anger.  

It answered a lot of questions for him, and should he ever get out of here, ever make this right he might have actually been thankful for that.  But that was a future he did not have the luxury of wallowing in just yet.

 

\---- 

 

The sun blazed hot and hard above him, though even in its strength the ground under his feet still had some give to it.  But the rain had washed away the sins of the city for one night and the air hung crisp and clear around him. There was much that he wanted to accomplish before the day’s end and so he set off, once again, in the direction of Hightown.  He wasn’t a complete idiot, he knew the dangers that lay ahead of him on his chosen path but it was something he had to do. He needed to get to the Chantry, a place whose doors were always open...in theory. A place that had its own network as wide and vast as any.  A place that was an industry all unto its own when it came to the collection of information. Their histories may have run biased, but he would work with what he could get. 

Varric took a roundabout way into Hightown avoiding the main thoroughfares, the gates, and the Templars.  It proved tougher than he would have liked. Grimly he realized that his knowledge of the underbelly of the city and the secrets it held only seemed to match this reality about fifty-percent of the time.  Blocked passageways and dead ends were more common than not, when he was lucky enough to find the entrances he was looking for at all. 

His movements through the city were slow but they were enough to get him where he needed to be, in the shadows of the all too familiar destruction of the Chantry.  It looked even worse close up than it had from afar in the bright light of a high sun. There didn’t seem to be any workers about, no evidence of reconstruction, but there were Sisters at least.  Carefully he made his way up the wide staircase keeping his eyes downcast and trying not to draw any attention to himself. Once he had ascended them it was obvious that many of those who had been missing from the city had come through here at some point or another.  Makeshift encampments, shoddy tents and ashen cook fires littered the once gleaming marble tiles of the Chantry grounds. Most dwellings were falling apart, likely having gone unused for some time. But others housed people, and families still. Dirt streaked faces in roughly patched clothes peaked out from behind threadbare hangings before retreating just as quickly.  A baby cried somewhere in the distance but he couldn’t tell where, the acoustics of the columned walkway bounced the sound again and again until he couldn’t be sure if it was one child or many in chorus. Varric felt in his pockets and gave the nearest family what he could, which was unfortunately nothing of consequence.

The main doors, broken yet still imposing in their sheer size, stood open letting the clean air flow through, in and across the huddled masses.  There were far more people inside than out, corralled into whatever clear patches of ground they could find. Rubble, stone, wood, and plaster had been pushed, and heaped to the sides to make as much room as possible.  At the far end of the hall where once had stood a gleaming, golden statue of Andraste now stood nothing except a massive hole in the wall and ceiling. The rainfall from last night had caused a minor flood in the middle of what remained of the floor and those of age and strength were only just beginning to clear out the area.  They worked efficiently and methodically. He suspected this was not the first time that they had had to do this.

There were supposed to be workers here, builders, and stonemasons.  Getting construction started on the Chantry had been a political nightmare.  People afraid of what it stood for, people afraid that rebuilding would only incite another attack.  But eventually, slowly, reconstruction had begun. There was no evidence of it here. It was like the explosion had just happened, and instead of building anew, instead of mending the destruction they had merely begun to live around it.  The actions of a desperate and needy people.

Varric stepped further into the hall and tried to get the attention of the nearest Sister.  She rebuffed him with a curt wave of a hand, not dismissively but as if to say not now, not when I’m busy, not when there is so much to be done.  He tried again with the next robed individual he found and received a similar response. It seemed everyone was set to their tasks and interruptions were apparently unwelcome.  But he had a task as well, and he wasn’t about to be deterred so easily.

A young Sister, not much older than the boys and girls he saw tending to the smaller children crossed his path, struggling under the weight of old tomes, piled high.  The stack wavered dangerously in her hands and he saw his opportunity. “Hold up,” he said gently not wanting to startle her, unsure that she could see anything in her path at the moment.  The Sister shuffled to a halt, and the books continued to sway in her hands. Varric stretched up and took one from the top of the pile. Four fingers thick, its nondescript leather bound cover began to flake at his touch.

“Oh thank you Messere, thank you,” she said, her voice muffled behind the books.  Varric pulled a few more from her hands, some just as large, others smaller but all in as poor condition as the first.  The top of a head and then a pair of eyes appeared above the dwindling stack and he watched as they grew wide in surprise.  “Oh,” she exclaimed. “I mean...I’m sorry Messere I just—we do not see many of your kind here.” 

“I can imagine,” he said with a knowing half smile and a lifetime of practiced apathy.  “Where do these need to go?” Varric motioned to the stack of books now in his hands and she indicated towards a door across the way with a nod of her head.

“I’ve been meaning to move them for sometime but I kept forgetting, and then with the storm last night well...I wouldn’t want them to get ruined, we have so few left as it is.”  He smiled at the concern in her voice, appreciative of a fellow book lover.

“Is there nothing that can be done?  To keep the rain out?” His eyes found the people again, who were cleaning up the mess the storm had left. 

“Oh we’ve tried, but nothing’s held yet.  And although it may not look it, we simply do not have the manpower.  It’s all we can do to keep these people clothed and fed and many are already so weak we cannot ask much more of them.”  They entered a small room made even smaller by the abundance of its contents. A storage room by the looks of it, for anything old and no longer of any use.  Broken furniture piled floor to ceiling encompassed almost half of the room, and bookshelves that overlapped each other, rendering them almost completely unusable, filled the rest.  Varric held back and waited in the doorway while the Sister pulled a stool out from under a table with her foot, shoving a rolled bundle of fabric off of it in the process. The thick burgundy fabric hit the floor with a deadened thud and unfurled just enough to expose the unmistakable golden topped head of Andraste.  With no notice to her minor act of sacrilege the Sister set about placing the books on the closest open shelf she could reach. 

“Hasn’t the Chantry sent any support?”  Varric eased himself into the room, through the miscellany.

“Oh yes, the Most Holy has been very attentive to the city sending reinforcements and supplies for the Templars.”  The Most Holy? Was Justinia still alive, or had they elected a new Divine?

“Has Divine…”  He let his voice trail off expectantly, hoping she would take his ignorance as merely cultural.

“Augustine,” she supplied happily and with no tone of judgement.  Augustine? Every answer he got seemed to result in more questions.  

“Has Divine Augustine sent anything here?  For the people?” 

“She’s sent what she can over the years, but our protection is more important than roofs as surely you understand.”  Over the years, then she wasn’t a new Divine.

“Our protection from…the Qunari,” he probed tentatively.

“And the Apostates of course.” 

“Right, and the Apostates,” he added quickly.  

Then that mess was still going on.  It was hard to stomach even after all he’d seen already.  The Mage Rebellion had started here, had grown and fostered here before spreading out across Thedas.  But it had left the shores of Kirkwall for the most part with the defeat of Meredith. Was this too because Hawke had not been there, had not held the status enough to create change, to make waves?  This was not as difficult to believe knowing now the impact of one person. If his actions had changed the lives of so many he couldn’t even fathom how large of an impact the absence of Hawke as the Champion had caused. 

Varric passed the Sister a book when she had finished with the ones in her hands and mulled over what he was going to say next.  Thoughts of the Inquisition now hung heavy at the back of his mind. It hadn’t been a possibility that he’d considered before but with a new Divine, no not new, a  _ different _ Divine and one still alive that held a lot of implications.  The Inquisition had been formed out of the destruction of the Conclave.  If a Divine stilled reigned what would be the use of such a force? Why would such an institution even exist?  The answer was getting clearer and clearer to him, but he needed to know for certain. The fate of the Inquisition was too important, too crucial.  But he couldn’t have a repeat of the day before, he’d been clumsy, carelessly blunt. Varric chewed at the inside of his cheek before speaking again.  

“Templars weren’t always part of the Chantry though were they?”  A little off topic but hopefully not enough to raise suspicions. 

“I am surprised Messere, not many of even our most devout followers remember that.  But yes, you are correct they were called...oh what is that word, I always forget it—”

“The Inquisition?” he supplied, glad that she seemed to miss the way his voice darkened as he spoke.  

“Yes, that’s it!  The Inquisition, I’ve always thought that it sounded rather romantic don’t you think?”  A wistful smile pulled at her lips and her eyes began to focus on something only she could see.  Varric managed a half smile in response though a heaviness weighed down on his shoulders as the apparent truth settled within him.  If the Inquisition existed now, in any capacity, his line of questioning would have seemed odd and out of touch. Its name was known even in the farthest reaches of Thedas if only in whispers.  For a Sister even as young as she to not know of its existence only proved the worst. The Inquisition that he knew, did not exist. He watched as his only real chance for change, for setting things back to the way they had been shrivelled in the brightness of a young woman’s unknowing smile.  She returned to shelving the books, coming back from wherever her thoughts had taken her. Unaware that she had effectively crushed all of his hopes.

“Now the Inquisition did not just form the Templars,” she continued on mistaking his questions as an interest in or maybe just an opportunity for a history lesson.  “It also began the Seekers of Truth—well actually, there is some debate about that but it’s all semantics really.” The Seekers. Cassandra. Thank the Maker he’d nearly forgotten to ask.  

“I know a Seeker,” he blurted out before he could stop himself, an urgency overtaking him.

“Really?  We don’t see many of those these days,” she said with a genuine interest, completely unfazed at being interrupted.

“Do you think you’d be able to help me track her down, I lost contact and I don’t know how to get ahold of her.”

“Possibly.”  Her head bobbed side to side, considering it.  “I could ask Sister Elaine, she is in charge of our record keeping and correspondence.  She might know.”

“I’d really appreciate it,” he urged.  An understatement if any. Cassandra was his only recourse now.  Unlikely as it seemed to him that she would be the woman he knew when nothing else was as it should have been, but he had little other choice.  None other in fact.

“Well then, come let’s see if we can find her.”  The Sister took the remaining books from his hands and stacked them neatly on a lower shelf, abandoning whatever organizational system she had been using.  He followed her out of the side room and back into the main chamber. The cleaning efforts had proven remarkably efficient, the evidence of the storm almost completely removed.  They walked together under the gaping hole in the ceiling. Being this close to it, knowing his part in what had caused it sent a shiver up his spine. The young Sister took no notice of it or his reaction, was it commonplace to her now?  Had she been there when it happened, had she been old enough for it to be of any real consequence or was this just normal to her? Was this the only face of the Chantry that she had ever known? It was all he ever saw now, it was all he would ever see he suspected no matter how many new coats of paint were applied or statues added.  

He was led up what seemed to be the only still functional set of stairs left.  The upper floors were in worse shape than the main level, with most of the areas cordoned off unfit for use.  The young Sister led him to a small corner set away from the other furniture on the landing. An older woman, Sister Elaine he assumed sat behind a desk, a large book lay open in front of her and reams of paper at her side.

“Sister Elaine, good morning,” the young Sister said brightly.

“Is it?  I hadn’t noticed,” Sister Elaine said without looking up from her work.  “Did you need something Sister Louise?” Sister Louise as it seemed, was completely unfazed by the brusque response from Sister Elaine.  Either she was used to it, or the tone had gone right over her head. He would have guessed the latter. 

“Yes, please.  This man a Master…”  She looked at him expectantly.  

“Tethras,” he supplied.  Charades and aliases weren’t going to protect him as he’d so efficiently sussed out the night before, so what was the point. 

“Master Tethras is trying to contact an acquaintance of his, a Seeker.”

“Seeker Pentaghast.  Cassandra Pentaghast,” he added. 

“Don’t know her,” came Sister Elaine’s response, quick and sharp.  Sister Louise looked between Sister Elaine and himself apprehensively. 

“Would you not be able to check Sister, just to make sure?”  The brightness in Sister Louise’s voice now seemed a little more forced.

“I do not need to check  _ Sister _ , we are supplied with very detailed lists of every member of the Templar and Seeker orders.  New recruits, retirees, those who’ve died in combat, signed by the Right Hand herself. Meredith runs a tight ship, leaves no room for pretenders”— she looked up from her book and stared directly at Varric—“or liars.”  

What small part of him that felt lucky that he had not outright named Cassandra as the Right Hand, was completely eclipsed by the knowledge of who the current Right Hand actually was.  It had to be her, he wasn’t lucky enough for there to be two high-ranking women named Meredith suitable for the enforcing hand of the Divine. In that instant he regretted every stray thought he had ever had against Cassandra’s effectiveness in her position.  Every snide remark at her perceived incapability, every cutting joke at her expense, at her worth. He had never considered the alternative, that the power could be wielded by someone truly undeserving. Someone so unfit. The weight in his shoulders had begun to constrict his chest as well.  He could feel the tightness around his heart, gripping as it beat sharp and fast.

“How recent are you records?” he asked, bypassing any remaining formalities or perceived etiquette.  Sister Elaine’s eyes grew wide, she looked affronted at his very words. As if questioning her was akin to a slap in the face.

“Incredibly so Master Tethras.”  She gripped at the edges of the book on her desk, like she wanted to bring it to her chest, protect it or maybe herself from him. 

“And how far do they go back?” 

“Excuse me?”  Now she sounded affronted as well as looked it.   

“How far do your records go back?” he pressed.

“Since the Knight-Commander’s induction, seven years ago.”  Seven years ago? He’d have to unpack that bit of information later.

“And before that?”

“Well.”  She did pick up the book now, closing it and laying it in her lap.  “The Seekers have always been notoriously secretive with their record keeping, but I am well aware of any currently active members of the Order,” she said, her voice curt. 

“And non-active members from before then?”

“I’m afraid I just don’t know Master Tethras.  Now if you’ll excuse me.” She stood abruptly, gathering papers and quills haphazardly in her hands.  With one last flustered and bewildered look at him she hurried off, trailing sheaves of paper in her wake.  He watched her go and take the last shred of his dangling hope with her.

“You have done the impossible Master Tethras.”  Sister Louise let out a short, disbelieving laugh.  “Rattled Sister Elaine. Everyone but the Mother is afraid of her.  I am sorry though, that we could not help you.”

“Thanks all the same.”  The tightness in his forced smile matched the grip around his chest.  With a nod to Sister Louise he made his way back down the stairs and out of the Chantry.

It wasn’t until he felt the familiar tacky ground of Lowtown under his boots that he let himself breathe freely again.  As much as he could that was, with the vice like grip that held his chest still. No Inquisition. No way of contacting Solas.  No Cassandra.  _ Maybe _ no Cassandra that was.  So she wasn’t a current active member of the Order, his Cassandra wasn’t either really though she still used the title.  Still saw herself as one regardless of their present purpose. But to not be in the records at all. Not once in the last seven years.  There were too many reasons, too many explanations and none of them got him any closer to finding her. He didn’t want to give up, not on her but he was tapped out.  He had nowhere else to turn, no resources, no contacts at least none that he knew of. Varric kicked at the dirt and his foot skidded unsatisfactorily against the ground still damp from the storm.  Every avenue he tried resulted in another dead end, another ruined life. The sun had barely reached its zenith and he was ready to give in, give up. What was the point. It was obvious to him now that he had screwed up everything and there was no way to fix it.

He shook his head and continued his slow path back to the Hanged Man.  He felt tired and drawn out. He normally let emotions roll right off him not stopping to consider them fully lest he bottle them up, harbour them for ages.  It was a particular speciality of his, all or nothing is what they got. The last day had been more trying mentally than anything he’d dealt with in ages and quite frankly he could have used a nap.  

The entrance to the Hanged Man rounded upon him, its familiar, grotesque signage creaking slightly in the wind.  He’d always found it morbidly funny, had enjoyed the uncomfortable looks passersby gave it but today it seemed just a little too real, too indicative of how he really felt.  Hanging by his feet, helpless, and confined. He stood beneath it, staring and the minutes ticked by. The creaking of the chain began to sound like laughter, wicked and mocking.  It screamed failure and weakness at him and if he’d had Bianca he would have shot it down just to spite it. 

The door to the Hanged Man opened and the sound of voices broke him out of his trance.

“I’m telling you she can help,” said a voice, a man’s, low and persistent.

“What if I don’t want her help?” said another man.

“What choice do you have?”  Came the first voice again. The two men exited the Hanged Man huddled close together and when they saw Varric they moved further away, lowering their voices even more.  “Look just go see her okay? Tell her Jaden sent you and bring her flowers, she likes those.” He hadn’t been trying to listen but Varric rolled his eyes at that. Here he was despairing over the fate of the known world and these guys were what?  Trying to pick up a woman?

“Flowers okay, okay.”  The second man was nodding his head now, and they began walking even further away from him.  “Merrill right?” The first man shushed him but it was too late, he had heard. Varric locked eyes with them and before he could call out they were off.

Merrill.  Merrill was alive and she was in the city somewhere.  It was the first good news he’d had at all. He had to find her, see that she was alright.  He owed it to her, to the memory of her. Varric took one more look at the visage of the man hanging above him and felt the tightness in his chest begin to recede, before taking off after the first real lead he had.

 

\---- 

 

Varric was trying to write and walk at the same time, it wasn’t going particularly well.  He could have waited he was only steps away from entering his room at the Hanged Man but he didn’t want his thoughts to escape him.  It had been four days. Four days and still no sign of Merrill. 

He’d followed the men that had mentioned her, followed them into Darktown but lost them in the increased traffic.  Lowtown was deserted, Hightown was barely any better, but Darktown was thriving. People jammed into every nook and cranny, every hideaway and hole in the floor.  Finding anyone in that mess would be a feat unto itself, but he wasn’t giving up. Not now, not when he actually had an achievable goal.

In the meantime he’d been researching, it was the only other thing he could think to do.  History books, maps, charts, letters, scribbles, whatever he could get his hands on in an attempt to find out even an ounce of information about the artifact.  The search for information was going about as well as the search for Merrill though and neither had proved fruitful. 

Varric nudged the door open with his shoulder and finished jotting down the last of his note.  He’d made it all the way to the table, setting down the day’s finds atop an ever growing stack before he even noticed that he wasn’t alone in the room.  He took the time to straighten out the mess in front of him, anything to busy his hands for a moment longer before turning and facing Bianca.

“I’ve missed you,” she said it low and wanting, intention laced in her words.  Which was a bit overkill if you asked him seeing as she was laying in the bed naked but for a single sheet draped across her form.  He hadn’t seen her since he’d left her alone in this very room, since she had accused him of drinking. Of being just like his mother.  He didn’t know where she’d been staying and frankly he didn’t really care. He’d been busy anyway, and grateful for one less distraction.

“I’m busy,” he said shortly.

“I can see that.  That’s an awful lot of books you’ve go there.  Anything interesting?” Varric bit at the inside of his cheek to still his tongue.  There was a lot he wanted to say to her, years of things but they were conflated with the Bianca he knew, with his past and it wasn’t worth the spit to drag them all out now. 

“You should leave Bianca,” he said cooly, forcefully.  She sat up, thankfully pressing the sheet close to her chest.

“I am your wife Varric, the least you can do is listen to me,” she responded just as sharply before her face softened.  “I...I’m sorry for what I said I didn’t mean it. But your drinking it—it scares me, you know that. And I promise I’ll never ask you to do it again, I promise.”  He was going to chew his mouth raw if he stood there any longer, listening to her. “Please Varric, let’s just forget it ever happened, forget I said anything.” He turned from her, and gripped onto the back of the chair in front of him.  He couldn’t look at her, see her face, hear those words. He’d heard them before, not in this specific context, but it wasn’t the first time she had ever pleaded with him. Begged him to forgive her, urged him to take her back. Her words covered a multitude of sins it seemed and he had yet to stand up to them.

The piles of research stared up at him from the table, pages of notes in hands made indiscernible from lack of sleep, lack of focus.  This was what was important now, this was where his heart lay. In a world beyond this one, in a reality he refused to let be forgotten.  He couldn’t lose sight of that.

“Leave Bianca, just...leave,” he sounded weak because he felt it.

“Varric?”  He could hear the rustle of sheets and tensed before she wrapped herself around him from behind.  “Come to bed, we can talk about it in the morning,” she cooed in his ear. He shouldn’t have let her touch him, the feel of her against him, the familiarity.  This was everything he had ever wanted, to be with Bianca. Always. No marriage was perfect or at least that’s what he’d been told, he didn’t really run with many married folk.  His examples were pretty limited. His parents, a wash. Aveline and Donnick, not without its issues but nothing compared to this. Relationships weren’t supposed to be easy, but he was fairly certain they weren’t supposed to be this hard either.  Weren’t you supposed to be able to trust the one you were with? He didn’t trust Bianca as far as he could throw her. Bianca kissed his neck and he felt his breath shudder through him. She was doing his head in, just like she always did.

He forced his way out of her grasp, bunching his shoulders and raising his hands to ward her off.

“I...I can’t Bianca.  I just can’t.” They stared at each other across the room, at a standstill.  Her eyes fiery and wild, her mouth pinched and terse before he watched her shoulders slump and her head slowly nod.

“You need time, I understand,” her voice was unexpectedly soft and placating.  Not the reaction he had been anticipating. She moved around the room, collecting her things until she was fully dressed and staring at him once again.  “Tomorrow? Can I see you tomorrow?” His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he searched for an answer. His brain was screaming at him, telling him to heave her out of the room, telling him to slam the door and throw away the key.  His mind continued to scream as he closed his eyes and nodded, his skin hot with shame. He heard the door close and he kicked at the chair next to him already regretting his actions, already damning his weaknesses.

 

\---- 

 

A loud thump brought Cassandra groggily awake, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to her senses.  She rolled onto her back and a beam of light caught her across the face causing her to recoil in protest.

“Sorry, sorry,” a voice called out quietly and the light disappeared again.  Her head felt heavy, her mind clouded. There was something she was supposed to remember, something imperative.  Images of the night before, of the day previous flitted into her head and she sat up with a start calling his name.

“Anthony!” 

“What?  I said I was sorry, you’ll have to get up eventually,” he mumbled the last bit under his breath.  All she could do was stare, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Then it was not a dream, or at least not one that she could wake from so simply.  This was real. “I’m going to get some food, and then...well I think some fresh air would do you well.” She nodded weakly and watched him leave. 

What was she going to do?

Her plans had been all but shattered.  Without the Inquisition she had little hope of finding Solas, the only person she knew to have any information about what was happening.  But she couldn’t stop, could not give up on correcting what she had done.

Varric.  There was still a possibility that Varric,  _ her  _ Varric, was out there.  It was a slim chance, made even more so now, knowing how much had changed.  But what else did she have? Would he know more than her? Most likely not. But to have someone else who knew, who understood.  It would prove to her what she knew to be true. At least, what she thought she knew. It was both logical and practical she assured herself, and she could not deny that part of her longed to see his face again and hear his voice.  She could have used his confidence now, his untroubled demeanour.

To Kirkwall then.  If there was no Inquisition to be found that would be the only logical place to look for him.  It would only be a matter of convincing Anthony. Convincing him to go into a warzone, apparently.  

 

\---- 

 

She was ready and waiting by the time Anthony returned.  Back straight, hands clasped behind her, using her full height to her advantage.  Not that she wanted to intimidate him, but it was a stance that had garnered results in the past.  The tail of her ponytail traced the edges of her fingers at her back and she unconsciously tugged on it, an old habit, a forgotten habit of her youth. 

Anthony carried a tray with him, and a piece of bread dangled precariously from his lips.  He took one look at her and rolled his eyes, setting the tray down and removing the bread from his mouth.

“What is it now?  You have that look again.  Whatever it is the answer is no.”  She balked slightly, taken aback by his unexpected reaction, then straightened even further, unwilling to be unnerved.  

“We are going to Kirkwall,” she stated bluntly.  Anthony laughed sharp and short, it only made her set her jaw more firmly.  “I am, if you will not.” This brought a more serious reaction from him.

“Excuse me?”

“I must Anthony, go to Kirkwall.  There is someone I need to find.”

“That’s insane Cassie!  You’ve seen the people out there, you know what’s going on!  You are not walking into a warzone to find, what? Someone who is likely dead or gone?  No. It’s out of the question.” He shook his head as he spoke.

“And you will stop me?” she said calmly, not willing to let emotion cloud the situation unnecessarily. 

“I will do my damned best.”  Tension rolled off Anthony through the air, thick and heady, a clash of wills.

“Then so be it,” she said just as calmly as before not willing to rise to her brother’s ire.  It was not the answer she had wanted, the answer she had expected? Yes, but not the one she wanted.  She turned from him and sought her pack at the end of her bed

“You can’t be serious, who is this person?”  There was a pause in her movement, a moment of consideration.  But he gave her no time to answer and continued on, more quietly now.  “Does this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?” 

“...Yes,” she answered slowly.  Unsure of what questions her response would spur.

“Then tell me what’s going on.”  

“I can’t—”

"Try, please.  So that I may understand.”  All elements of his initial anger and surprise had vanished from him voice.  He sounded concerned again, and she felt guilty for putting any amount of worry on him yet again.

“Anthony any explanation I could give you would be long and unsatisfying, I do not yet know myself half the answers I seek.  But this is something I must do if to at least gain some closure.”

“Is it really so important to you that you would risk your own life?”

“Yes,” she answered instantly without hesitation or reticence.  It had been the first thing unencumbered by doubt or worry that she had said all morning.  Something she had not had to think about or parse through before letting it pass through her lips. 

“Could it not wait?  Until it is safer at the very least.”

“Everyday I delay I risk the worst.”  If it has not already happened she thought to herself but dared not speak aloud.

“Who is this person then that you would risk so much for?”  

“His name is Varric Tethras,” she replied steadily and waited for any kind of reaction.  She had debated with herself whether or not to tell him if he asked. Ultimately deciding that if he was to come with her he would need to know some particulars, there was no way around that.  And though it may raise questions, it would not immediately plant suspicions. Not like continued evasion and denial would. She watched as the skin around Anthony’s eyes crinkled and he retreated into himself in thought.

“Have I met him, I do not recall the name?”  These were the kind of questions that she had feared, that she had been trying to avoid.  Would her answers, her explanations contradict a life she had no way of knowing?

“You have not.  He...I knew him briefly some time ago and he aided me greatly.  I owe him a debt and I feel it has come time to repay it.” An excuse she had rehearsed yet still she stammered to say it.

“What kind of debt?  And when did you say you met him?”  She was not prepared to give specifics, she doubted she was any better a liar in this world than she was in her own.

“I’m losing daylight Anthony, I cannot delay any longer.”  In a frenzy of movement she swung her pack onto her shoulders and made for the door, hoping to jar Anthony from any further thought on the matter and incite him into action.

She had been right and before she had descended the stairs into the main floor of the inn Anthony was hot on her heels, scrambling to gather his belongs.  The piece of bread back in his mouth, his cloak trailing against the floor in his haste to catch up with her. 

“Alright, alright.”  He struggled to get through a full mouth.  “Just slow down for a second, I’ll come, just let me—”  He gesticulated wildly at his disheveled state and she slowed her pace but did not stop completely, unwilling to give him any opportunity to try and convince her against her plans.

Once he had righted himself and his possessions she picked up the pace again, heading towards a stable they had passed on their way into town.  “This will require more explanation at some point you do realize. I’m not walking in anywhere ill-informed, even for you.” He was grandstanding, they both knew it but if it made him feel any better about their situation so be it.  He would not have let her go alone as much as he expressed his displeasure about the idea in general, he would not have left her just as she would not have left him.

 

\---- 

 

By midday they had both donned their cloaks, the sky having gone grey and the wind having picked up.  They were riding into a storm. Anthony had suggested postponing their journey at least until it had passed, she’d refused him and now his mood was as equally somber as the skies above.  Grumbling to himself every few minutes about the weather, about the journey, about her. How stubborn she was being, how unreasonable. By nightfall she expected another argument and a renewed expression of his interest for answers.  Answers she could not give. The very thought of it had put a damper on her mood as well. This was not the journey she had hoped for, the two of them at odds. But she could not think of a way to throw him off the track, could not think of a reasonable explanation as to why she was doing what she was doing.  It was risking much to ask him to follow her without reason, for a man that he did not know and that she did not know would be there in the end.

She had already seen so much change in the last day.  So much devastating change that she was barely able to entertain the idea that if she found Varric it would not be the man she knew.  And she knew that it was silly, decidedly illogical to even believe that her Varric existed in this world as well but he stood as a flame burning in her consciousness a beacon to which she was drawn to.  The last remaining vestige of hope that what she knew of her past, of her present was not some trick of her mind. Until she knew for certain either way she would not rest, could not rest.

The rain came, spitting at first before gradually falling heavier and heavier until they could no longer see beyond the noses of their mounts.  It was then that they stopped for the night and made camp as best they could. Anthony was decidedly silent now, his mood having taken a downturn as sure as the weather.  She tried and failed to elicit any response from him at even the most simple questions and statements. It made for a chilly supper, the two of them close mouthed and damp, huddled around a meager fire sheltered just barely from the storm.  Cassandra’s own sentiments began to slip as far as her brother’s. She could not escape the feelings of guilt that plagued her, for her actions, for what they had caused, for her own reticence to fix them. Her thoughts were the utmost betrayal to all she had ever done, all she had ever worked for.  Selfishness was what controlled her now there was no denying it. For of course she wanted to fix all that had happened, all that she had done but it was no small part of her that felt a longing to let things remain disturbed and broken. So that she could stay as she was, with Anthony. It sickened her to her very core to think that she would let the suffering of thousands fall to the wayside for a life she could have had.  For her own happiness. The storm raged in her ears as her thoughts clouded her mind, a tempest both within her and out. So lost was she inside the void that had created itself around her that she did not hear Anthony speak.

“Cassie.”  His voice fell to the rain and the wind and he spoke again before she heard it.  “Cassandra?”

“Yes?” she responded, a darkness still pulling at her thoughts, distracting her. 

“You are not yourself,” said Anthony cooly.   

Her stomach lurched not just at his words but at the look on his face.  He had shown nothing but concern for her the past day or so, trying to understand, trying to help but there was a severity in the shape of his brow now.  What she had been trying to forestall, trying to skirt around as long as possible had finally reared its head. He had grown suspicious. 

“Something is different,  _ you _ are different.  I thought...I thought maybe you had hurt yourself, or maybe being here in Nevarra was truly just too much but you are changed, I can see it now.  Your face, there is a responsibility, a worry that I have not known in you before.” How could she deny this? She was no liar, no manipulator, she sought the truth and she spoke it of course the remorse, the guilt that coursed through her would be readily apparent in her, and to the man who knew her better than any.

“Who is this man, this Varric Tethras that has drawn so much of your determination?  I have never seen you worry so, not since...not since we were children.” Did he think that the cause of all of this?  

"He is...a friend.”  How could she explain what Varric was to him when she could not explain it to herself.  Was Varric a friend? He was an ally, a comrade. He was there when needed and not, though he did not incite feelings of ease and companionship like those she did call friend.  No, he made the colour rise in her cheeks and her vision run red. He made her heart beat against her ribcage in an attempt to escape and grow beyond its confines. He made her skin alight in the sheer force of anger that he could swell within her, and yet still dance with desire.  Varric was not a friend to her, he was so much more.

“A friend that you would risk your life— _ our _ lives for, yet I have never once heard you speak of him.”  Cassandra stilled her features determined to not give anything else away.  “When and how did you meet him?” She had not prepared enough for this, had not thought out a suitable alibi thoroughly enough.  

“Two years ago, I met him two years ago.”  Were not the best lies built on truth?

“And where?”

“I...I do not remember,” she answered lamely.  She had no way of knowing where they had been two years ago, what they had been doing.  Any answer was bound to be the wrong one.

“Was it that summer in Orlais?  You spent those weeks alone while I recuperated from the Ravager attack.”

“Yes—yes, you’re right.  Orlais, it was Orlais.” Anthony’s eyes darkened and she knew at once it had been the wrong response.  A simple ploy, an easy trap that she had stumbled into in her distress, one that she had used many times in her own interrogations.  Supply the suspect with information and let them dig their own grave, let them make their own mistakes that they could not get out of.  

She did not flinch as the steel of his blade bit at the soft flesh of her throat.

“Who are you?”  The coldness of his voice was just as sharp as the edge of his blade.

“Anthony—”

“Where is my sister?”

“I—I am your sister Anthony.  I am Cassie,” she said, looking straight into his eyes and keeping her body still, unmoving. 

“She did not leave my side after I was injured fighting the Ravager.  She stayed with me until she was sure I would not die. And so I ask again, who are you?”

“I swear Anthony.  I swear to the Maker, I swear on the graves of our mother and father”—the blade moved against her neck and she felt the burn of skin tearing, the heat of blood beginning to pool—“I am your sister but I…”  She did not know what to say to convince him of her identity, it was a lie, it was all a lie. She was not his sister, not really. “This will sound insane to your ears, as it does to mine.” Was this the right tactic?  She had nothing else to tell him but the truth. “I am your sister but I am...I am not of this world.”

“Then you are a Demon?” he spat the word and his eyes flickered over her with disgust and disbelief.

“No!  I do not know exactly how this came to be but for magic.  I am your sister but this is not my world.” Her words came out in a rush all strung together.  “Things here, they are different and I am only trying to return to what I know.”

“Varric Tethras, he will help you return?”

“Possibly, maybe.  I do not know.” Her eyes shifted to the blade still at her neck then back at him.  “I can explain this to you, all of it if you would allow me.” The sword wavered slightly but remained at her neck.  “Please Anthony, an hour, it is all I ask. I will tell you everything.”

Slowly he removed the sword and placed it across his knees his hand still on the hilt.  Cassandra took an unhindered breath and touched the spot where the tip of the blade had met her skin.  Her fingers were red with her own blood, a shallow cut for the amount it had bled.

“Speak, and know that I will know if you lie.”  She did not doubt him.

 

\----      

 

Morning rose just as grey as the day before, but far less wet.  The storm had passed in the night, and she had been awake to see it.  It had taken more than an hour, her explanation. She had told Anthony everything, answered every question that she could.  He had not been pleased with what she had to say, and disturbed by much of it but he had not labelled her a Demon which she counted as a success.

His bedroll lay unslept in beside her own, he had not followed her into the tent when they had finished nearly at the crack of dawn.  Choosing instead to stay outside with what was left of their fire. She understood he needed time to process what she had told him, come to his own conclusions as to whether or not she had been telling the truth.  And if she had what in fact that meant, for the world, for him. Speaking of his own death to him had been the most trying part of her explanation, exposing to him that that he was here at all had somehow changed the face of the world.  But he had taken it surprisingly well, the knowledge that he was not even supposed to exist. Not that she had any kind of barometer for that type of situation for which to judge his reaction against. 

Cassandra pulled back the flap of the tent and was shocked to see Anthony already at work saddling the horses.  Her stomach fell realizing that he must be preparing to leave, his decision made. He would have no more of her.  He saw her come out of the tent and stopped what he was doing, his eyes darting anywhere but at her.

“I didn’t expect you to be up so early.”

“You were going to leave then, without telling me.”  She could not blame him, though it made the pain in her heart ache no less.

“What?  Oh”—he looked at the reins in his hand—“no I...I thought that you would want to get going as soon as we could,” he explained. 

“We?  Then you are...you are coming with me?”  Her voice was breathless with relief. 

“We share the same blood Cassandra and what you said...what you have told me I cannot begin to understand but”—he looked her straight in the eye—“you are my sister, that much is clear.  And I would never abandon you.” The painful clench within her released in a wash of warm emotion. A final release of the barrier that had remained between them.

“To Kirkwall?” she asked tentatively. 

“To Kirkwall,” he confirmed.    

Quickly they broke down what was left of their camp and were on their way.  Cassandra swung up onto her horse and swirled her cloak around her shoulders, Anthony doing the same.  They sat there for a moment and she felt she should say something. Thank him, assure him of something, anything.  He looked at her and with a tentative nod and a faint smile, headed off. 


	7. Chapter 7

The Hanged Man had never stood out in Cassandra’s mind compared to the many other rundown taverns and inns that littered Lowtown and the docks.  Its only defining feature had been its patronage by Varric. Yet stepping into it now as far back as it lay in her memory, she could tell that something was off.  That the atmosphere was somehow different, somehow wrong.

The streets of Lowtown had been clear, practically devoid of life.  The citizens they had passed had scurried along quickly, through cramped and twisted streets and back alleys with a resolute determination.  Not staying, not lingering any longer than they had to. Caution seemed to reign across the city, leaving everyone on edge. Here though, in the smoky, overheated confines of the tavern lay those she had expected to see out of doors.  But their faces, their demeanours spoke of a tired lot, a suspicious lot. Most were openly armed, eyes shifting, scanning the room and those around them, second glances, third glances. Those who were seated sat facing the room, those who stood held together in clumps.  Like pack animals, alert and aware of each other's movements. The tension in the room was palpable, and she imagined that it would only take one false move to set the place ablaze, for it to tear itself apart. There was no music, no idle chatter. Even in Lowtown where so many were downtrodden she had expected this place to hold some level of revelry, an escape from the heavy force that clung to the city with a malevolent grasp.  Once again she was reminded of just how much had changed, just how much was different. What had she done?

Anthony led them through the crowd, taking extra care not to disturb any of the patrons.  Gazes flickered about their persons, some stared boldly, harshly, a challenge behind their eyes.  But most shied from their presence, turning their heads quickly from them as they passed. Purposefully making themselves seem unthreatening.  Anthony and herself stood out like sore thumbs. Tall, well nourished, heavily armoured and finely dressed, she pulled the hood of her cloak deeper around her face.  This was not a place that saw many new faces apparently, nor did it seem did it welcome them.

Anthony stepped up to the bar and began a low whispered conversation with the barkeep, anything louder and the entire room would hear what he had to say, what he had to ask.  She kept her back to his and scanned the room. It had never been difficult to spot Varric in a crowd, what he lacked in stature he made up for in the sheer magnitude of his presence.  Where he was an audience was sure to follow, but there was no audience to be had here. 

The whispering behind her stopped.  Anthony placed a hand on her arm guiding her to the end of the bar before handing her a mug, battered and chipped and full of something brown.  It gave off a foul odour and she tried to keep her nose from crinkling in disgust, no need to insult someone unnecessarily, even if she had no intention of drinking whatever it was.

“He says there’s lots of dwarves here, lots that frequent.  He’d be willing to part with some more specifics I’d bet given the right encouragement,” Anthony spoke to her in Nevarran yet still chose to keep his voice quiet.

"Save your coin Anthony.  If he is here I will find him, he has not escaped me yet,” she replied in the same manner.  He gave her a look as if he questioned her methods before conceding with a nod and raising his own mug to his lips.  A smirk worked at the corner of her mouth as she watched his nose crinkle as hers had before he lowered the mug with a discreet cough.

“Then find him fast Cassie I’d rather not stay here longer than necessary.”  He scowled at the liquid in his hands before setting the tankard back on the bartop.  

“I’m going upstairs.  Watch my back, and look for my signal.”  She set her mug next to his on the counter and shuffled through the crowds to the base of the stairs.  They slanted precariously and creaked under her step. What passed for a bannister, a rope tacked to the wall had too much give to support its use.  Its moorings rattled dangerously loose against the wall. The Hanged Man had never been a pillar of engineering excellence to her recollection, but truly it had gone to the wayside since she had last seen it.  Was that time? Or just another casualty of this changed world?

The foul stench of the ale, or whatever it had been lingered in her nose, roiling her stomach.  She had been feeling queasy since passing over the border into Kirkwall. If Varric,  _ her _ Varric was to be found it would be here in this city and the anticipation, the worry and anxiety of what she might find, of what that might mean was eating away at her.  Could she face yet another thing changed? 

She took her time ascending the stairs, using it to complete a cursory scan of the floor below.  Nothing stood out, nothing familiar. From above, the room looked even more dire, a sea of dull browns and greys, as if everything and everyone was coated in a thick layer of dirt and dust.  The Varric she knew, in vibrant reds and golds would have stood out as clearly as Anthony did, as certainly as she did. Anthony caught her eye and she gave a quick shake of her head to indicate that she had seen nothing, saw nothing that could be the man she was looking for.  There were only a handful of dwarves that she could see, one was a woman and the others all sported thick beards in browns and blacks. She suppressed a heavy sigh and turned from the room below. What had once been Varric’s room lay across from her on the landing. The door stood open, the room dark, it did not inspire a great confidence in her.  She tried her best to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.

The hallway beyond was dark, a lone torch flickered at the far end casting a weak light.  The other doors in the hallway were closed, a more encouraging sight if anything. Still she had to at least take a quick glance at what had once been Varric’s room, just to be sure.  

Crossing the landing she cautiously stepped into the room.  It took no more than a second’s look to know that this was not Varric’s room as it had once been.  There were no fine dwarven furnishings, the table and chairs matched those that were downstairs, built for human or elf alike.  Even more telling was that the bookshelves lay bare, a sure sign that Varric did not, or had not lived here. 

Cassandra sunk into one of the chairs that surrounded the table and rested her forehead in her hands.  That Varric did not live here was not the end of the line, but it signalled to her yet another difference.  That what she had wrought had changed so much, much more than she could have ever imagined. The last flicker of hope that burned in her mind began to waver, to shrink and dim.

It wasn’t until she felt the familiar hard bite of steel on her ribs that she even knew someone else was in the room.

“Who sent you?”  The words rumbled close in her ear and the panic she felt as the blade pressed into her side was superseded by the overwhelming relief that ran through her as she recognized the voice.  

Varric.  

“Actually I don’t care...no wait, I do.  As a point of pride I’d like to know who sent probably the  _ worst _ assassins I’ve ever gone up against.”  Well he certainly sounded the same, and acted it.  The unease in her gut began to subside. Of course there was still a blade being pressed into her.

“Varric,” she said his name cautiously, testing the waters.

“Well at least you got the name right, there’s something to be said for that I guess.”

“ _ Varric, _ ” she growled in annoyance, surely a more recognizable tone from her and lifted her head from her hands.

“Ah-ah,” he warned.  She stilled in her motion as the blade moved more forcefully against her.  She was still unable to see him or for him to see her. She could however see a figure darken the doorway through her threaded fingers.

“Have you—Oh...did I miss the signal?” said Anthony with hardly any concern for her current situation. 

“ _ Ugh. _ ”  She felt the blade at her side slip a fraction, and heard the sharp intake of breath in her ear.  “Anthony, Varric. Varric, Anthony.” A paltry introduction.

“Oh, is this him?”  Anthony excitedly pointed behind her.  “Ah yes, the chest hair, I see it now.”  He stepped further into the room and extended his hand.  “Anthony Pentaghast at your service, now if you would be so kind as to remove your blade from my sister, thank you.”  He introduced himself with a measured casualness, an ease just this side of off-putting. 

She heard the blade clatter to the floor, and felt the air release as Varric stepped back from her person.  She took a shallow breath unable to still the heavy beating of her heart and hesitantly turned around. Now was the moment of truth, was this  _ her  _ Varric?  Or just another disappointment, a manifested being of her moral failure?  

She shifted in the chair and her eyes fell on Varric, his figure shadowed in the unlit room.  Her eyes scoured his form frantically as if she could tell just by looking at him whether or not he was the man she knew.  He looked the same. The familiar red-gold of his hair, the offset of his nose. A touch wide eyed perhaps, and a little more worn or worse for wear, as so many of the people of this city seemed to be.  Her hand gripped at the arm of the chair and she futilely licked at her lips, her mouth suddenly parched. 

“Varric?” she questioned, tentatively and quietly both yearning for and dreading the answer.

“...Seeker?”  His voice sounded just as frightened as hers but as soon as he had spoken, called her what only  _ her  _ Varric could know, relief hit her.  It came with a crushing force like a dragon’s tail, washed over her like a wave of icy water and it was all she could do to keep herself upright in the chair, her body falling lax with joy, with the loss of tension that had resided in her for days now.  She drew a shaky breath and nodded minutely, unable to manage anything more. He was on her in an instant, his arms wrapping around her shoulders, trapping hers against her sides not so much a hug as a grapple. It was an awkward angle made more so by her position in the chair but it felt like a homecoming.  She cupped his elbows with her hands, the extent of her movement with him pressed as firmly against her as he was. There was a safety in his embrace, against this world that made no sense. She closed her eyes and gave into the support his grip provided, clinging to him just as forcefully as he did her. 

“It is you right?”  There was a rawness, a tenderness as he mumbled into her shoulder.

“Yes Varric, it is I.”  Her eyes fluttered open as she felt the need to look upon him again, the physical touch of him not enough of an assurance. 

“Maker’s hairy ballsack that’s good to hear.”  He had still not let go of her, though his stranglehold released a fraction and she was able to move her hands up his arms.  Hold him more fully, more securely, letting her head rest against his. “I didn’t know how to find you, I didn’t know it would be you that I found if I did—I went to the Chantry but they didn’t know who you were I—I...”  She could feel him collapsing against her as he stammered into her cloak, his words stirring within her a similar set of overwhelming emotions.

“I am here now Varric.”  She kept saying his name, like a reassurance, a confirmation that he did in fact exist.  “We will figure this out together.”

“It’s all different.”  She had never heard him sound so unsure, uncertain. 

“Not everything.”  The words passed her lips before she had really thought about them, but they were true, now.  He was the same, she was the same and now they had each other regardless of what had happened.  For the first time since waking up here she felt a calmness. Varric went silent, his breathing steadying against her chest and she continued to hold him close.  Anthony sought her permission with his eyes before slipping out of the room and leaving them alone. Though she would deny it if questioned, she needed this as much as Varric seemed to, and so she waited content to stay as they were as long as necessary.  

It wasn’t until her breathing returned to normal, and she felt the patter of his heart against hers settle that she spoke again.

“There is much we need to discuss Varric.”

“No kidding.”  With a regretful sigh Varric pulled from her grasp, easing himself from her grip.  Yet he stayed standing just at her side close enough that she could reach out to him again if she should choose to.  “We can’t talk here but I’ve got a room.” He motioned behind him passed the open door and made to move towards it before stopping and facing her again.  “It’s uh...it’s good to see you Seeker, really.” He smiled almost timidly and she felt herself doing the same as if on instinct, as if for that moment she could forget completely what was happening around them.  As if at that instant the dire consequences of her actions did not exist and the world consisted of nothing but the two of them.

“I know the feeling.”  And she did, though she had not felt it in years.  Not since Regalyan.

 

\---- 

 

As they left the room and moved down the hallway Varric couldn’t help but sneak glances at the Seeker while she walked next to him.  Even though he’d touched her, felt her solidly underneath his hands he was still afraid to let her leave his sight, that she might disappear when he wasn’t looking.  He still couldn’t quite believe his luck, though he was ashamed to admit it he had nearly given up all hope that he would be able to find her. He should have known really that she would be the one to find him instead.  

Though it didn’t seem that she had any more answers than he did, just having her here, close by had already lifted his spirits.  Made the entire situation seem less dire, less unreasonable. He unlocked his room at the end of hall and ushered her in. A look passed between her and, Anthony was it?  He hadn’t even known she had a brother. Varric waited at the door for him to pass through as well but Anthony settled himself against the wall outside his room instead, eyeing him up and down in the process.  There was a definite similarity between the two, but the sibling dynamic had always eluded him. Now more so than ever. 

The door closed behind him and he gestured towards a chair for the Seeker to sit.  There wasn’t much in the way of furniture in the room, nor possessions, but he made a show of tidying up all the same.  Clearing away scraps of paper and stacking the few books he had to make room at the table. He thought he caught a flicker of judgment in her eyes as she scanned the room and he felt uncomfortable, ashamed even for a second before remembering that whatever had happened to him here, whatever life had dealt him wasn’t real and didn’t matter.  That being said, she seemed to be doing pretty well for herself. The Seeker he knew had never cared for excesses beyond a quality set of armour, or a sturdier sword. How different then was her reality? 

She sat down at the table and unclasped her cloak, letting it fall against the back of the chair.  A thick, sleek column of hair ran down her back and for a moment he forgot what he was doing, the pile of papers in his hand hanging limp.

“What is that?” he blurted out. 

“What is what?”  She turned to him the question still written plainly on her face before she rolled her eyes, her hand coming up to touch her hair.  “Oh...it is an inconvenience, an annoyance. Give me your knife I would cut it off now.”

“What?!  No.” She scoffed and rolled her eyes again before turning her back to him.  He set the papers down and passed behind her, his fingers itching to reach out and touch it.  A sure way to lose a hand. “I mean, it’s a novelty, let me have a moment to take it in.”

“There are far more pressing matters at hand than my hair Varric.”

“Sure, sure,” he replied before sitting across from her, his eyes never leaving her head.  He’d never thought about the Seeker with long hair, the image had never even crossed his mind.  Her short cut suited her completely. The braid had been a bit of a mystery until he knew her better.  Understood a little more of what lay under her hard exterior. This though, the high, sleek ponytail, it was striking.  It created an impressive profile. He wanted to see it down, and he really, really wanted to run his hands through it. Cassandra angled her head until his vision was replaced with her icy stare.  “Right. Weird artifact shit, that’s what’s important here.”

“Then you agree, it was the disc?”

“What else could this be?  I mean, I did have my doubts, but now that you’re here and you’re well,  _ you _ .  We both touched it so that has to be it.”

“But where is here?  Are we in the Fade, another plane of existence?  Are we even really here or are our bodies laying back in those ruins?  How much time has passed? Can we go back?” He could see the anxiety written across her face, and it mirrored his own.  All of those thoughts had passed through his mind, but he had yet to find any answers. “Is there a back to return to?” Her voice was quieter now, like she was speaking to herself.  

“I don’t have any answers Seeker.  I’ve been looking, it was the only thing I could do when I couldn’t find you.”  He gestured to his hasty cleanup job. “But I haven’t found anything, I’m...I’m not sure there is anything to find.”

“If we could find Solas—”

“I couldn’t even find you.”  

“We have to do something!”  She recoiled at the sound of her raised voice, wringing her hands.  He couldn’t blame her for breaking, he had, the moment he’d seen her.  Knew that it was her.

“Let’s start from the beginning and work from there.  We won’t let this beat us Seeker.” There was a sorrowfulness in her eyes before she breathed deeply and nodded in agreement.   

“I do not know yet, the lengths to which things have changed but I will tell you what I know.”  He could see her jaw clench as she worked out the words in her mind. He knew she found this difficult, and he regretted all the instances in which he had mocked her for not being able to find the words, for stumbling over herself.  He wanted to reach out and let her know to take all the time she needed, that whatever she had to say, in whatever way was enough, would always be enough from now on. Now that he had known what it meant to not have it at all.

“I remember the ruins, I remember the artifact how it looked as if it drew in the very darkness around it.  I remember it falling and that we both reached out for it. I remember hitting the floor and waking in a field with the sun overhead.  That was six days ago to my count.” It had been six days for him as well which was a good sign, he nodded to affirm her story. “I was not alone when I woke up, Anthony, my...my brother was there as well.”  She hesitated, her next sentence forming on her lips, like she was deciding whether or not to continue on. “He knows, or at least, I have told him what I believe is going on and he seems to accept it. When I told him what had happened he agreed to search for you, we were not far from here, only across the border in Nevarra.”  She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. “He is— _ we are _ , dragon hunters.”

“You’re not a Seeker?  Well, that explains a lot,” he said mostly to himself.  It was why the Chantry had not known of her, why she was not the Right Hand.  He thought again how lucky he was that she had found him, he wouldn’t have stood a chance looking for her as he had been.

“No I am not.  Nor is... _ was _ , Justinia—Dorthea that is, the Divine.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Divine Augustine reigns presently or so I am told.  Installed days after the assassination of Divine Beatrix.”  Her lips pinched like it physically pained her to say the words.  

“You’re not a Seeker,” he said again though it wasn’t a question this time but an understanding.  “You weren’t there to stop it.”

“I was not the only one!  I had allies, mages, they…”  She deflated with a sigh in front of him.  He was still coming to grips with the impact of his own choices, it would seem, so was she.

“So a new Divine, what else?”  He urged her to continue on, not wallow in what had happened, what she had had no control over.

“Augustine is no Justinia, their views are...remarkably different.  The Mage Rebellion as you must know, still happened though earlier, much earlier.  And has resulted in an Exalted March. There has been no Conclave...no Inquisition.”  A hand came up to support her head. “My selfishness, my own weakness in character has caused this Varric.  Irreparable harm to thousands, more than thousands of people.” He did reach out now, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey now, this isn’t all—”

“Anthony was dead!”  She shrugged out of his touch without looking at him.  “I have willed him into existence where he has no right to be and in the process taken countless others in his place.”  That was it then, her wish, her what if, her desire, or whatever it was that that Maker blasted thing had given them. It made his marriage seem even more paltry in comparison.  He regretted now, letting her go first. If she felt the resurrection of her brother was selfish how would she take his marriage to Bianca. Even he had thought it was frivolous, something to be erased once realized.  

He didn’t know what to say.  He realized now that going back, if that was even an option, meant far more for her than it did to him.  It meant losing her brother all over again. He could see the agony in her eyes, the burden that she had been carrying with her all his time.  Returning to what they knew was barely a question for him, but for her? Something within him lurched sickeningly at the thought that when it came down to it their goals, their expectations might not align.  He had to forcibly stop himself from continuing on down that line of thinking, she had sought him out after all. He could not assume what she was thinking, what her thoughts were at that very moment. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.  It wasn’t enough, not enough by far for what she was facing.  Cassandra flipped her hand at him and straightened herself back into the chair.

“It is not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.”  She met his eyes for the first time since beginning her retelling of events.

“Thank you.”  

It was his turn to shift uncomfortably under her stare, under the weight and knowledge of what he know had to expose of himself.

Varric tried to relax back into his chair, fidgeting and squirming before giving up and running a hand through his hair while expelling a frustrated sigh.  It wasn’t just that he was embarrassed to tell her what had happened to him, what had been his wish. This was personal, intimate. He didn’t share, he lied, he pretended, keeping secrets locked away and people at a distance.  And sure Cassandra knew things about him that many did not, the unfortunate byproduct of being interrogated by someone, but this wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. Hells it wasn’t even the kind of relationship he had with Hawke and if he couldn’t tell her these things, things about his past who could he tell?  Cassandra would hate him though, more than she did most days if he didn’t tell her what was going on, especially after what she had just entrusted to him about her brother.

The silence had been prolonged at this point and he wasn’t hiding his discomfort well.  He risked a quick glance up at her and was taken aback at the look on her face, was that concern?  No, it couldn’t be, shouldn’t she be stabbing something about now? Isn’t that how the flow of information between them usually worked?  At this point he’d almost prefer her to beat it out of him, he might have actually saved some face. 

“Varric?”  He looked at her again and there was no mistaking it, he had been right, there was a patience there behind her eyes.  An understanding that he hadn’t thought her capable of, at least not towards him anyway. “If you do not...you need not feel compelled to tell me.  I cannot imagine anything more personal than this, and to share it with someone else, I...” 

He watched as her eyes flickered down in thought.  He knew now that that meant she was considering her words, choosing them carefully.  The opposite of how he approached so many situations. Cassandra had two modes that he could tell, careful consideration when she yearned to get things just so, and the side that he more often saw, her visceral reactions.  When words flew hot and heavy from her lips, rushing over themselves to be spoken, to be expressed. He knew that she thought she did not have a way with words, but she spoke with truth and passion, two things he had drummed out of his own self years ago.  It was unfair not to tell her, to make her doubt the level of trust he had in her. If he was willing to put his life, his fate in her hands it really was the least he could do. Besides, it wasn’t like she didn’t already know some of the most embarrassing things he’d ever done.  Hells she carried one of them in her pack at all times, even if she thought he didn’t know. 

“You should not feel obligated is what I mean to say.”  Maker he must look like such a jerk, he definitely felt like one.  She hadn’t even hesitated in telling him what had happened to her and now she probably thought that he what?  Didn’t trust her?

“Look Seeker it’s not that, it’s just…”  Shit, was he really going to do this? Hey Seeker, you remember that woman that I named my crossbow after, and who I followed around for years like a lost puppy dog after she left me for someone else?  You know, the one who sold us down the river after I trusted her with something incredibly important that ultimately led to the death and corruption of thousands. Remember her? Well guess what I married her, because apparently I have no self respect.  And I know we’ve sort of been dancing around  _ something _ these days, but you don’t need to worry about that anymore because now you know how much of a pathetic loser I am.  

He tapped a finger against the table, a nervous, irritated tick while he worked himself up to it.  “So here’s the thing—”

The door to the room flung open with enough force to smack against the wall.

“Who in the hells do you think you are, telling me—”  Bianca stormed into the room, crossbow in hand, past an alarmed looking Anthony who looked like he couldn’t decide whether to put himself in front of her or just step away altogether.  He gave Cassandra a distressed look, his hands raised high and to his chest. Bianca locked eyes with Varric before catching sight of Cassandra. “Who is this guy? And who is she?” Cassandra stood calmly, and he hastily followed suit nearly knocking his chair over in the process.  This was...not good. Definitely, not good. 

“Cassandra Pentaghast.”  She extended her hand towards Bianca and he felt his insides clench, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  There was no way around it now, he was fucked.

“Bianca Tethras,” she replied coolly.  

And there it was.  He couldn’t see Cassandra’s face fully but the use of his family name hadn’t seemed to garner much of a reaction.  But there was little if no chance however that she hadn’t heard, that she hadn’t understood what that meant. Bianca met Cassandra’s hand slowly, making a show of eyeing her up and down as if she took offence at her height. 

“We did not mean to intrude, in fact we were just leaving,” said Cassandra evenly.  She moved towards the door and Anthony, before turning to face him once again. “We shall be taking rooms here if you require anything else.”  Cassandra was looking at him expectantly, a slight quirk of her eyebrow and a tenseness in her jaw asking for his help. This was his area of expertise after all.   

“You’ll have your answer tonight,” he improvised.  Short, vague, open to interpretation enough to get them out the door and to deal with the more pressing issue that had just walked through it.  Cassandra gave him a stilted nod no longer looking at him, and turned towards the door hesitating a moment before exiting, Anthony on her heel. Bianca didn’t even wait until the door had fully closed before rounding on him.

“Well?”  Shit.

 

\----

 

“Well?  What was that all about?”  Cassandra couldn’t look at Anthony, she could feel the blood already rushing to her face.  When Varric had been hesitant to tell her what had happened, what had changed for him she had assumed it was something deeply personal.  She knew him to be a terribly private man. He did not lie for lyings sake, he lied because he was unwilling to share so much of himself and although she did not agree with his methods she understood his reasoning.  But this. Married to Bianca. She had heard it from the woman’s own mouth, Bianca  _ Tethras _ .  It was foolish of her to be so shocked, so alarmed by it, it was not her place, not her worry or concern, there was nothing between herself and Varric.  Nothing that spoke of any obligation or, or… She brought the back of her hand to her cheeks and could feel the heat there, the burn of shame, embarrassment.  Because there was something there, between them. Unspoken, yes, but not imagined she was sure of it. Ugh, she was a fool to let this affect her so. A grown woman not in control of her own emotions, over what?  A passing fancy? Sometime of little importance surely. She knew there was a history there between Varric and...and that woman, though she did not know the particulars. It must be more than she had ever thought for this, a marriage between them to be so important to him.  

Foolish woman, she could not think it enough.

Cassandra straightened her back and clenched her jaw resolved to move past what had just happened.  She had no claim to Varric’s feelings and he certainly had no commitment to hers as such she would simply have to move on.  Get over it, it was hardly the end of the world. She felt a fresh wave of guilt remembering the actual severity of their situation.  That she should have given even a moment's thought to such a trivial matter was humiliating. 

“Cassie?”

“Nothing Anthony, it was nothing.  Come, we must secure rooms, there is still much to be done.”

 

\---- 

 

“Well?” Shit.  

What had he done, he should have just told her when he had the chance.  He hadn’t wanted Cassandra to find out at all but to have her find out about Bianca like this… There were worse ways, but not many.

“What are you doing here Bianca?”  He didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in his voice.

“What am I doing here?  What were they doing he—who were they?”

“Clients, Bianca.  They were clients,” he lied. 

“A job?”  Her whole disposition perked up and she looked quickly at the closed door.

“Yeah, a job.  They want to hire me.”

“To do what?”  Any sense of injustice seemed to have vanished from her voice, she was all business now.  He couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Find something.”

“Find what?”

“Bianca!”  He raised his voice, not willing to let the situation devolve into something he had no intention of explaining.  She took a step back and there was that look again, the indignant glare she had had for him upon entering the room.  “Why are you here?” 

“It’s tomorrow.  You agreed that we would talk tomorrow.”  Shit, he had hadn’t he. Why was it that past Varric was always leaving problems for his future self, he really needed to stop doing that. 

“Right,” he said sounding defeated and scratched at the back of his head.  He had only managed to move from one awkward situation to another. He could only hope that this one would manage a better outcome.  Bianca moved to sit down and he put out a hand to stop her. “This isn’t going to take long.” She froze in her spot and he saw the movement of her breath stall as well.  “We aren’t...we aren’t good for each other Bianca,” he said, straight to the point. 

He could see the path of his future before him now.  With Cassandra here returning to their lives was not just a priority it was the only thing that mattered.  Whatever hazy fantasies that had been playing in his head, confusing him, clouding his judgment were shattered now.  His mind returning to the clarity he had had before any of this had happened. He didn’t want this, a relationship, a marriage with Bianca.  He didn’t want any part of it. 

“Bullshit,” came her response. 

“You mean the world to me...that is, you  _ meant _ the world to me and there will always be a part of me that loves you Bianca but I can’t do this anymore—”

“Varric,” she interrupted. 

“Can you...please, can you let me just say what I need to say.”  He wasn’t exactly sure what that was. There was a lot he could say about how he no longer trusted her, how he valued himself enough now to see that she didn’t value him.  That for years she had used him, put his life in danger for what, the chance to piss off her parents? But even he could see that it would be unfair to unload all of this on the woman standing in front of him.  Sure the similarities were there but she was no more culpable in his pain than the furniture in the room. Okay maybe a bit more culpable, she had dragged up the stuff about his mother. But still it didn’t justify accusing her of things she had no possible way of defending herself against. 

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you what you wanted, that I was never enough for you.  And I was grateful for all that we had, whatever you could give me because of it. But it’s not enough, it was never enough and I should have realized that sooner.  I’m not going to follow you around anymore, come when you call just for you to drop me when it’s inconvenient. I want more than that...I  _ deserve _ more than that.”  His words surprised himself, he had opened his mouth and they were just  _ there _ , as if waiting for this exact moment to be spoken.  He had to admit it felt good, if a tad self indulgent.

“Do you expect me to just accept this Varric?” she said with an accusing tone.  He could begrudge her her anger, but it did not escape his notice that she didn’t even try to deny any part of what he had said.  It made his response that much easier. 

“You don’t have to accept it Bianca, because I do.”

 

\----

 

Anthony was apparently still as much of a busybody as he had been when they were children, he had been standing at the door to her room and peeking into hallway since they had come back upstairs.  She knew what he was looking for, what he was trying to listen in on, she however was doing her best to ignore it. It was none of her business. 

Anthony straightened quickly and shut the door, holding it just shy of the latch so that only anyone who was looking would have been able to tell that it wasn’t in fact shut all the way.  She heard the muffled sound of a door slamming shut then quick steps past her room. Anthony waited a fraction of a second for the steps to fade before opening the door and peering into the hall once again.

“It was her,” he whispered.  “The dwarf,” he added in explanation, as if she didn’t have any idea who  _ her _ was.

“Come away from the door Anthony, be civilized.  It is none of our business,” she chastised him.

“But how will we know when...oh—”  And he was gone, into the hall. A split second later the door opened fully and Anthony reentered the room, Varric behind him.  Varric stopped on the threshold of the door, her cloak in his hands. “Would you like me to go?” Anthony said to her in Nevarran as he subtly gestured to his own room, across the hall.

“No Anthony, I would ask you to stay.”  She didn’t want to be alone with Varric right now, and much prefered to have him as a buffer.  He gave a slight shrug and settled himself against the wall across from where she sat on the bed.  Varric continued to linger at the door, waiting for some sort of invitation or acknowledgment from her.  She suppressed a sigh and concentrated on keeping her voice and expression neutral. No need to show Varric that what had just occurred had affected her in any manner.  “Thank you Varric.” She extended her hand for her cloak, granting him entry into her room. Closing the door behind him he made his way across the room and handed it to her with a curt nod.  Unsure of himself he turned from her only to find Anthony staring at him from the other side of the room. A deafening silence bloomed as he lingered in between their stares before his shoulders slumped in defeat and he spoke at last. 

“Okay just ask already, I know you want to.”

“I have said no such thing, do not feel any duty on my behalf.”  She tried and failed not to sound indignant. It was just like him to assume that she felt some privilege to his personal information.

“Well fine then,” he said matching her level of ire.

“Fine,” she stressed.  Insufferable man, she could feel her lip curling out of sheer instinct.  

“Actually”—both of their heads swiveled in Anthony’s direction as if they had forgotten they were not alone in the room—“I would like to know.”

“Anthony!” she said sharply, appalled at his forthrightness. 

“Oh don’t be so superior Cassie I know you do too even if you will not ask.”  She crossed her arms across her chest with a huff and turned her gaze from both men.  He was right of course but she would not give either of them the satisfaction of seeing it in her face.  It was bad enough that Varric felt the need to routinely call her on her thoughts and actions, now it would seem she was outnumbered. 

“So I take it you are not married to this, Bianca was it, in  _ your _ world?” Anthony said nonchalantly. 

“That’s about it,” said Varric as he shifted uncomfortably in the open space of the room flanked on either side by prying eyes.  She tried to feign a disinterest in her posture even though she was hanging on every word that Varric had to say on the matter.

“And she is?” Anthony continued to pry. 

“An ex.  Sort of,” Varric said through gritted teeth as if every syllable spoken caused him great pain.

“Well, that all seems rather mundane.  Truthfully I expected more from the way you two reacted.  Unless I’m missing something?” Oh she could have throttled him, he knew very well what he was prying into.  Well, not the specifics of the matter. She had said nothing about whatever it was that passed for feelings between herself and Varric, but he was far from stupid and altogether far too observant for her liking. 

“She may have royally screwed us over where we’re from.”  An understatement if she had ever heard one. A snort escaped her, breaking her facade of seeming indifference to the matter. 

“Yet you still wanted to marry her?” Anthony pressed.

“It’s not like I had a choice in this alright!”  She had only ever seen this level of defensiveness from Varric directed towards herself.  Apparently the skill ran in the family.

“Anthony, stop.”  She could not sit by and let her brother pester Varric so even if she did find the information of great interest.  This was entirely too personal for him, and he was right she had no place to judge him for the actions of this world as he had had no choice in the matter.  Just as she had not. The Magics that had done this were still far beyond their understanding. “You need talk no further of your...marriage, Varric. I trust that if anything pertaining to it is of relevance to our situation you will tell us.”

“Thanks, but it doesn’t really matter anymore.  The marriage I mean, it’s...I ended it.” She could have cursed herself now for giving Varric an out, an excuse to tell them no more because now she did have questions.  Why had he ended the marriage? If it was important enough to him that it had been his wish, or whatever this was what could have possibly possessed him to leave her?

“And you aren’t concerned?”  She was torn between telling Anthony to stop again and just letting the whole thing play out.  Varric could certainly stand up for himself after all, if he didn’t want to answer anymore questions he would make it known. 

“Concerned about what?”

“That you may have possibly ended someone else's marriage.”

“Oh…”  A darkened look clouded Varric’s face.  After she had told Anthony of what was going on his prevailing theory had been that she was merely inhabiting the body of another version of herself in a separate existence.  An idea that she had not considered, but that she truthfully did not find very plausible. But she understood his reasoning, for if any of her theories were true then his existence, his entire life was nothing beyond false memory.  “I hadn’t really thought about it like that.” With a shrug the darkness passed from Varric’s face and returned to normal. “Eh, he’d thank me for it in the long run.” Anthony looked less than pleased with his response. Understandably, if he thought the pair of them only visitors here and the lives they were living not truly their own.

“Did you at least tell her why?”  She felt the air change around them and knew that he had crossed the line at last.

“Tell her?  Tell her what?  About this?” Varric’s hands flew wide.  “What was I supposed to say? Hey Bianca, I know you think we’ve been married for the nearly two decades but guess what none of that is real!  Because in the world I know you left me at the altar for someone else!” 

She let out an audible gasp then made a feeble attempt to cover her mouth with her hands as if that would somehow negate the noise she had made.  But he had heard, and she watched as his eyes closed and his whole body changed. Morphing from an open stance, large and domineering in the heat of the moment to collapsed in upon itself, his shoulders rising around him protectively.  She had not known and it was becoming painfully, excruciatingly obvious that it was never anything that he had meant to say. Whether to them or at all she couldn’t be sure.

Before he could come back to himself she was gesturing to Anthony silently across the room, begging him to leave with her eyes.  He understood her immediately and left swiftly and quietly. With the sound of the door closing Varric finally broke from whatever spell he had put himself under.  He looked to the door and then at her.

“If you’d like me to…”  She pointed at the door then brought her hands to her lap gripping at her fingers nervously.  Varric brought a hand to his forehead covering his eyes then ran it back through his hair.

“Don’t...don’t worry about it,” he said darkly.  Crossing the small distance between them he sat heavily next to her on the bed.  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t repeat that to anyone.”

“Of course not,” she rushed in with her assurances, and felt it best to not bring up the fact that in truth she had no one else to tell.  Not here at least. Though that was beside the point, she would never have betrayed his trust like that as hard as that would be for him to believe.

“Seriously though.  Not even Hawke knows.”  She gave a stilted nod trying not to show her surprise.  

“Is this…”  She really shouldn’t have been pressing her luck.  “Is this why you did not want to tell me?”

“Sure, why not.”  He sounded utterly beaten, resigned to his fate.  “I was embarrassed okay? It just all seemed so trivial.  Of all the things that could have manifested it had to be  _ that? _ ”  He shook his head.  “Pathetic.” 

“Love is not trivial Varric.”  He rolled his eyes. “And you are not pathetic for chasing after it.”  She meant it, every word though it felt awkward to be saying it to him, about Bianca.

“No that’s...that’s not what I meant.  I didn’t even want this, not anymore. I used to, it used to be all I could think of.  What could have been if things had just been different. If she had just stayed. But...Maker take me”—he gave an annoyed groan—“I’ve grown, or whatever.  It’s taken me years but I had finally moved passed it, finally moved passed her, or at least I thought I had. See? Pathetic.”

“You were given everything you had ever wanted and you walked away from it, that is not pathetic Varric, that is strength.”

“Yeah, only took a lifetime of betrayal.  Years of broken trust, expecting a different result time and time again because why?  Because I loved her? She as good as told me that it wasn’t enough…that  _ I _ wasn’t enough.  So yeah, I’m real strong Seeker.”

Could he hear her heart breaking for him?  It was shattering into a million pieces within her, a small crack spidering, growing larger and larger.  She had always known that there must be more to Varric than he showed the world, the words he wrote were tangible proof that he was far beyond all that he pretended to be.  Aloof, distant and with a level of ease that could be nothing but practiced. But she had never expected this, a lifetime of love and loss. Devotion, betrayal it was not just something from his books it was so much beyond that.  It was harsh reality, so far from romanticism she was having a difficult time resolving that the man next to her had ever written anything of the sort at all. Was that why he hated his serial so, thought it drivel because it had been an exercise in futility?  A farce to what he knew love to be, something distant and wanting. Maker he must think her naive the way she fawned after his books, pursuing an ideal that he thought to be unattainable, purely fictitious even childlike in its notion.

He laughed to himself, harshly and without mirth and for a moment she thought he had known her thoughts and was laughing at her. 

“All these years and she was right to walk away, we would have torn each other apart.”

It was a pain she could not begin to imagine.  She understood loss and the pain of a life once lived.  Of choices made and regretted but she feared it would come across as hollow and perfunctory if she were to try and express her sorrow for him.  But she could not say nothing, not when he had opened up the very depths of himself to her, and possibly to anyone for the first time. This world that they were in had turned everything they had ever known on its side, it had made her doubt and reconsider the most basic of thoughts, that which she took for granted everyday.  If he felt anything akin to what she had been feeling the last few days he needed reassurance. 

“Whatever you may think Varric, whatever she may have told you, you are not undeserving of love.”  

His eyes caught hers and the splintering in her heart ceded.  Had it been a second she would have named it a minute, even an hour that they shared.  She had never seen him so raw and unprotected, all pretense of orchestrated bravado and safety gone from his person.  She had seen broken men before, she had been the one to break them more often than not. Varric was not a broken man but a man brought to the brink of his own self, wavering upon a decision only he could make.  He could let this destroy him, the knowledge he now possessed or he could rise from it, despite of it, stronger.

Varric turned from her and rose from the bed, but she had seen it, an uptick at the corner of his mouth.  The merest flickering of a smile, and the ache in her heart began to recede.

“Night Seeker,” he said quietly. 

“Goodnight Varric,” she responded almost questioningly, unsure that there was not more to be said.  If there was she could not find it within herself to say it and instead watched as his back slipped past the door and into the darkened hallway beyond.


	8. Chapter 8

Varric woke with a groan and sluggishly rolled onto his back.  Memories of the night before rose to the front of his mind and he groaned again, and fought the urge to roll back over face down on his mattress and just stay there, forever.  His mouth had certainly gotten him into some rotten situations in the past but it had never betrayed him so thoroughly, so catastrophically as it had the night previous. He’d managed some twenty odd years of keeping the most personal details of his life under wraps, even from the most important people in his world, the people he had routinely trusted with his life.  And now it was all out in the open. And of course it had been Cassandra there to hear it all. She who already knew far too much about him, she who he would have rather had know as little as possible about this in particular. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her with the information, truthfully he couldn’t think of many other people he would have trusted more than her.  But as his twisted feelings and wretched thoughts had gushed from him in an overwhelming torrent of information he had seen her retreat back into herself.  Watched as a distance formed between them and whatever fleeting chance he may have had with her had dissolved into nothing. Not that he blamed her, he was a certified mess, emotionally unfit for any kind of relationship and certainly not the kind she was looking for or the kind that she deserved.  And her words had been well meant but he had understood her meaning clearly,  _ you are not undeserving of love _ , but you are undeserving of mine.  

He lay there for some time, staring at the ceiling of his room.  Doors opened and closed in the hallway beyond and of the people he heard moving about he thought he recognized her tread.  Determined and purposeful matched by one nearly the same. Her brother’s he would have guessed. It was a dynamic he would never truly understand and seeing the two of them together only proved to him the aberration that was his relationship with his own brother.  She had raised Anthony from the dead, she had told him the truth of her situation and he had not only accepted it but willingly travelled with her to rectify it. Never in his lifetime had he inspired that kind of loyalty from anyone let alone his own flesh and blood.  They had shown more care for each other in days than Bartrand had shown for him in his whole life, unless you counted murder attempts. Which could possibly be viewed as caring about if one was dead or alive if you squinted very hard and looked at it from a decidedly perverted angle.  

Varric sat up and tried to straighten out his clothes which he had collapsed into bed still wearing.  He needed to get out of this world. He needed to leave all of it and the thoughts it would not let him escape from behind, and he wasn’t going to do that laying in here.

 

\---- 

 

The daylight was altogether unkind to the common room of the Hanged Man.  The darkness was forgiving of a multitude of sins that which the sunlight could not hide.  He probably looked rather similar, worse for wear in the bright light of the early morning, tired, disheveled, overwhelming fed up with everything. 

Cassandra and Anthony were sat at a table across the room, closer to the front door, both picking away slowly at what passed for food in this place.  Their heads were drawn close together and from this distance he could only guess that they were speaking in Nevarran with the way their lips formed around strong syllables.  Whatever conversation they were having seemed to be heated, there was a pause as Anthony pierced something off Cassandra’s plate and popped it in his mouth. Her eyes narrowed and she sat back, all conversation apparently now over.  No longer distracted he found her looking straight at him. There was a slight beat as their gazes connected and she seemed unsure of what to do until her face broke into a rare smile calling to him across the room. A timid smile, private as if just for him.  It made his heart tremor briefly until he remembered the pity in her eyes the night before.  _ Balls _ .  Why did he keep falling for women completely unsuited for him?

When he had gotten within arms reach of the table he saw her attempt to discreetly nudge Anthony in the side.  Anthony flashed her an annoyed look until he saw him standing across from them.

“Good morning Varric,” she said with a lilt a touch too formal, a touch too precise even for her.

“Morning,” he responded casually. 

“Ah yes...good morning Varric,” Anthony added as he stood up and extended his hand towards him.  “I would like to apologize for my behaviour last night, you shall have to excuse me I”—he looked down at Cassandra who was staring up at him with an urging look—“had no right to question you as I did, it was not my place.”  It sounded rehearsed but he did not doubt its genuineness. He took the outstretched hand and gave it a shake, how could he not with Cassandra looking between them with great interest and expectation.

“Don’t worry about it Slayer, this is new for all of us.”

He sat down across from them and pretended not to notice the triumphant look Cassandra gave her brother.  As if he hadn’t already figured out who’d orchestrated the entire matter.

“Varric, we were hoping you had an idea, a plan...something.  You mentioned research, have you found anything?” Cassandra dove head first into the business at hand.

“Short answer, no.  Long answer...also no.”  Her face fell. “But I do have one lead, sort of.”  It was tenuous at best and an aside from what they were actually seeking.  He lowered his voice and leaned in across the table. “Daisy’s in town, I haven’t found her yet and I can’t guarantee that she’ll know anything but, well obscure history was always sort of her thing and...it’s better than nothing.”  At least he hoped it was. The history stuff was secondary really, all he actually wanted was to find a familiar face. Prove to himself that he hadn’t destroyed everything he cared about, and to find out about the others if at all possible. 

“Then it is settled, we will find her.  What do you know of her whereabouts?”

“The best I know is she’s in Darktown, with basically all of what’s left of Kirkwall.”

“Then that is where we’ll go,” she said with a decisive nod.  Oh he’d missed this, Cassandra taking charge. It was comforting in a totally disturbing way.  It felt safe her in her element he in his. 

A plate of food was set before him and Cassandra excused herself to get her things from her room before they set out, leaving him and Anthony alone together for the first time.  They sat in a stilted silence, Anthony hid his discomfort no better than Cassandra could and it made him wonder just where the similarities between the two of them began and ended.  Like the night before, if he had closed his eyes and altered the voice he would have had no trouble believing it was her speaking to him, demanding of him. And he had been surprised that it had not been her truthfully.  Upon reflection he had expected the worst from her in terms of invasiveness and personal violation but she had not overstepped once. Weirdly enough she had tried to protect his boundaries when her brother had pushed. He knew he was guilty of not giving her enough credit, of still viewing her as the same woman he had first met in Kirkwall two years ago.  It was not that she had changed, it was that he had been slow to notice and reluctant to believe that she wasn’t the one dimensional person he had initially thought her to be. It was her he thought to be stubborn, but maybe if he had not been so steadfast in his own prejudices the events around him would have played out remarkably different. But that was all speculation now, depressing and bleak speculation. 

“I am sorry by the way.”  Anthony broke the silence and Varric looked at him over a forkful of food.  “I just wanted to make sure you knew so you don’t think I only said it because she made me.  I’m sure you understand Cassie can’t abide to see others upset.” Varric let the food hang there in front of him as he closed his mouth in thought.

“We are talking about the same person right?”  Anthony rolled his eyes.

“Do not conflate physical strength with emotional incompetency.  She may not wear her heart on her sleeve but that does not mean she lacks empathy.”  He would have to do better to remember who he was talking to. It had been a joke, a cruel one he was not so unaware, but an easy one.  One many others would have made. But he was not talking to  _ others _ he was talking to her brother, someone who rightfully would not accept such an ill informed judgment on her character even in jest.  Especially in jest from someone he barely knew and who had not made a sterling first impression. Anthony’s eyes flickered up above his head and his face brightened.  Cassandra returned to the table and he lost his chance to say anything to Anthony, an explanation, an apology, anything. They left shortly after and he could tell that the brief reprieve he and Anthony had had was gone.  Well, shit. 

 

\----

 

Varric did not seem himself today, though she had not really expected him to bounce back so readily from the events of the night previous.  And Anthony certainly wasn’t helping. Varric may not have noticed, not knowing him so well, but he was being unabashedly rude to him. She suspected it was some sort of payback for making him apologize.  Ugh, men.

She had wanted a few minutes to talk with Varric privately, but the moment had not yet presented itself.  She wanted to make sure that he was okay. That he understood that should he ever need to talk, or to merely be listened to she could be there for him.  She knew what it was like to suffer in silence and where she had Anthony he had no one. Though given their past he would likely prefer no one next to her.  But she was worried that her reassurances had fallen on deaf ears, that he was embarrassed over what had transpired. She glanced ruefully at the back of Varric’s head and pushed her worry to the back of her mind, it would have to wait.  She could not be distracted for what they were headed to do, and her feelings were certainly distractions enough. Seeing Varric again, and their conversations that night, all that they had illuminated had alighted something within her. A strong something, a passionate something that she could not ignore.  There had been a moment, an extended, excruciating moment when she had understood what was happening between Bianca and Varric that she was ready to give up on what lay hidden in her breast. But after Varric had spoken to her, of his own heart she had not been able to deny hers either. Yes, Varric had loved Bianca, may still love her to some extent but that was not the future or the present that he wanted.  He had been met with it, with all that he had ever wanted, he had said so himself, and he had denied it. Walked away from it. She would take not even an ounce of credit for it, it had not been for her, it had been for himself and that meant all the more. What attraction there had been on her end had only increased with all that had happened, and though the timing was ill-gotten it was not something she could ignore much longer.  But for now, ignore it she must. There were far more pressing engagements at hand. 

Darktown was suffocating.  Cramped and overcrowded, people pushing in from all sides.  The air was thick with a multitude of scents and not one of them pleasant.  Even in the open areas, the wind that carried in picked up the aroma of the harbour, foul and rotten.  She did not doubt that Varric had had no luck in tracking down one person who was going out of their way to stay hidden, a thorough search of the area and all its secrets would take weeks.  Weeks she could only guess they did not have.

Like any proper search they had to begin with reconnaissance, watching, listening, observing for tells, for giveaways, for the one thing you could always rely on, human error.  Someone would say something, someone would slip up eventually and they would be the ones to notice. They had picked three corners in the main marketplace out of the way but still with heavy traffic at which to place themselves.  All within eyesight of one another but well enough away as to not draw suspicions, to not make connections. She estimated that at least an hour had passed before they had acclimatized to their surroundings, blended in as best as possible. It was easier for Varric, but much more difficult for Anthony and herself.  Though she had always found, stand somewhere long enough and people forgot, people forgave and most importantly people overlooked. 

It was another hour on top of that before she was able to start seeing patterns.  The same people making the same rounds, the same products being asked for and trafficked again and again.  You had to first understand what was normal, what was commonplace before you could see the differences, that which stood out even when it was meant not to.  The stall next to her sold food, rats on skewers, a brown sludge they claimed was stew, mugs of the same vile ale that they sold at the Hanged Man. But every so often a customer would ask for “whatever’s freshest,” those sales were accompanied by a discrete package palmed to the buyer beneath their food.  Those kind of details weren’t what they were looking for but they were vital to know in order to eliminate as many possibilities as they could. Were the children eyeing an unsuspecting man merely playing a game or sizing up a mark? Was the young girl wringing her hands, her eyes darting all over nervous because she was waiting for something to happen or because of who she was talking to?  The young man picking away at the flowers in his hand was he meeting a relative? A lover? These were all things that had to be considered thoroughly before they could be eliminated.

Sweeping the area once again she made eye contact with Anthony across the way.  He gave her an almost imperceptible shake of the head to signal that he had seen nothing, heard nothing.   Varric was harder to spot altogether, him being shorter and the group of people around him denser. When she did finally spot him his gaze was engaged somewhere else.  She tracked his eyeline and found that he was staring at the young man from before which she had written off, the young man with the flowers. She tracked Varric’s eyeline again to make sure that she was looking at the correct person, but she had been right the first time, it was the young man that held his interest so intently.  

When the young man moved, pushed off the wall he had been settled against Varric moved too.  What was he doing? There were plans and procedure for this, if he had seen something, heard something that he thought was important he was supposed to get at least one other person's attention before doing anything.  Quickly she looked back to Anthony and inclined her head towards Varric before she too went on the move. The man was between her and Varric now, and Anthony was shifting his position to take up the rear. He purposefully stumbled into Varric to get his attention, alerting him that they were with him.  A touch over dramatic but effective. Varric sought her attention across the crowds and gave a shrug that she guessed was an apology. That man would be the death of her.

The path the young man took was winding and led them through multiple narrow laneways that forced them to follow behind and play catch up.  Sometimes bringing them into pairs of twos unavoidably. Varric sidled up to her after about ten minutes of following the man who had begun backtracking his own steps.  Not on purpose she had decided, more likely he was just plain lost.

"What did you see?”  She was eager to find out what Varric had seen that she had not.

“It’s the flowers, the guys who I followed down here the first time mentioned flowers.”  She nearly stopped and turned around altogether, flowers? That was it? What a tenuous connection.

“Varric flowers are flowers it could mean nothing, also”—she tried to give him a scathing look as discreetly as possible—“that is the kind of information that would have been useful to know, beforehand.”

“It slipped my mind!” he said with a defensive rise of his shoulders. 

“Did anything else slip your mind?”  He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”  

“Ugh.”

“Besides, I think the flowers are important.  Look around, don’t they seem a little out of place?”  He did have a point, where exactly had the man gotten them?  It wasn’t like they were selling them out of carts around here.  And who had time or money for such a luxury these days, not the people in Kirkwall that she had seen.  

“You’ve made your point,” she muttered dully.  The jab to her pride was almost worth seeing the subtle grin grace his face, a flicker of the Varric she knew.  “Whether or not he proves useful though is another matter, he has been walking in circles.”

“Yeah,” he said with a grimace.  “We could always just jump him.” 

Well, it wasn’t the worst idea.

“Okay I can tell you’re considering it, so I feel obligated to point out that that was a joke,” said Varric pointedly. 

“I’ll give him five more minutes,” she responded dryly and silently enjoyed the concern that wavered uncertainly on his face.  The lane they were in began to open up and they were forced apart again, but Varric continued to shoot her furtive looks across the streams of people.  Watching, waiting. As if she would actually jump someone totally unprovoked in the middle of a crowded area. Really, she would have to wait until they had cover at least.  Not that she wanted to, but this tactic was getting them nowhere, perhaps something more direct was in order after all.

It was at almost the five minute mark to her estimate that the young man stopped moving and stood stock still in the middle of a junction.  He’d stopped suddenly enough that a few people bumped into him from behind not expecting the change in pace as she had not. She slowed her pace but kept moving, stopping as he had would have drawn too much attention.  His head flickered back and forth between two directions and he looked visibly confused. His eyes glanced down and for the first time, being this close to him now, she noticed a small sliver of off-white within the green of the flower stems.  A note? Or a map? Whatever it was he seemed reluctant to pull it out, yet it was obvious that it was what he was trying to look at. He angled his head awkwardly, at this point it would have been far less conspicuous for him to withdraw the paper then to deal with it how he had chosen.  His head snapped back up and he scratched behind his ear with a feigned nonchalance before starting to move again. 

He passed within an arm's distance of her and she had to restrain herself from simply just reaching out and grabbing him by the collar, dragging him into a more secluded area and just getting this all over with.  She hated subterfuge, understood its purpose of course, but it had never been her chosen tactic. Once a suitable distance had been reestablished she followed suit once again. His new path took them down into an area they had not been before, the lanes were getting smaller and smaller until they could only follow single file and any hopes of their tracking him going unnoticed were all but impossible.

“Okay, I’m rescinding the part about it being a joke,” Varric whispered behind her.  “He may not seem the brightest but he’s going to notice us sooner rather than—” As a group, Varric behind her and Anthony behind him they rounded a corner only to find that the man, his back still to them, had come upon a dead end and stopped.  Cassandra pulled back, stopping short, just barely avoiding colliding with him but Varric and consequently Anthony did not. The forward momentum caused by both of them running into her propelled her into the young man in front of them knocking him to the ground.

As they righted themselves he scrambled in the dirt to turn over.  Once faced with the undoubtedly imposing sight of the three of them, made only slightly less so by the farcical pushing and prodding between them to regain their personal space, the man’s eyes went wide, his face blanching in terror.

“Please don’t hurt me,” he said in a weak, reedy voice.  Cassandra stuck out her hand.

“Give me the flowers,” she commanded.  He clutched them close to his chest and they drooped forward limply having been crushed under the weight of him during his fall.  “Now,” her voice rang low and threatening and she hoped that Varric had been correct in his assumption. She could not bear the thought of intimidating a man for a bouquet of flowers that was  _ just _ a bouquet of flowers.  His hand trembled slightly but stayed close to his chest.  There was sigh behind her.

“She will punch you,” Varric chimed in from behind her, and with that the man extended the flowers towards her in a sad pantomime of two young lovers trading favours.  She took the bundle from his still trembling hand and carefully extracted the piece of paper within it. The parchment was now stained with the juices of the crushed flowers but it was still legible.  A crude map was drawn on it, with an X marking its intended destination. It took her a moment to decipher exactly what it was that she was looking at, but when she had she let out a frustrated sigh and extended her hand again to the young man still on the ground in front of her.  He stared at her hand as he had before, with great trepidation and when he would not take it she rolled her eyes and stepped to the side.

“You may go,” she said curtly, ready for this all to pass.  Without even fully pulling himself from the ground he scuttled past the trio and ran off.

“Wha—why did you...”  Cassandra passed Varric the note from her hand and waited for the realization to dawn on his face.  Anthony loomed over him trying to see it as well. When a thoroughly unimpressed look fell across Varric’s features she knew that he had figured it out too.  The note was a map, the X marking where they needed to go, which happened to be naught but a few feet from where they already stood making her impromptu shakedown of the young man completely unnecessary had they only waited a few more moments. 

“I know I’ve said this before, but you’re kinda bad at this,” Varric commented unnecessarily and she could feel the blood begin to boil underneath her skin.

“Do not even start, if you had not—”  But before she could even get out a full sentence Varric started in talking over her. 

“You can’t blame this on me you’re the one who—”  Anthony put his hands up. 

“Enough you two!”  She pressed her mouth shut, but could feel a familiar snarl forcing its way through.  “What’s done is done, and we are apparently where we need to be so shall we?” Anthony gestured forward towards the end of the thin lane, where a lone door stood recessed into the hard packed mud brick walls of the undercity.  They continued to stare at each other for a moment longer, a glint of combativeness still in Varric’s eyes, until she stepped back and let Varric lead the way. It was his friend after all that they were tracking down.

Anthony and Cassandra waited patiently, Cassandra less so, behind Varric as he stood in front of the door.  Nervousness was not something she associated with Varric, but if she had to put a name to it, Varric did in fact look nervous.  She let some of the stiffness, the outrage rescind from her stance when she realized that of course he would be nervous. He was about to meet this world’s version of one of his dearest friends, that was bound to be no easy task.  She reached out, her hand hovering in the air between them before gently touching his arm, startling him slightly from wherever his mind had been. She passed him the flowers, which looked even more ragged having been in her exacting grasp, if only to give him something to do with his hands and moved her hand to his shoulder.  An understanding that they were in this together.

Varric knocked on the door.

If there had been a hatch she would have expected it to open, for a singular eye to peer out and scrutinize them.  At the very least for some dark voice to call for a password. But there was no hatch and the voice that called out from the other side was anything but dark.

“Coming, coming.  Just a moment please.”  Varric tensed under her hand at the sound of the voice and she knew he must recognize it.  The door opened and in it stood a petite woman, she had the ageless youth of all elves, with dark hair, large eyes and scrolling vallaslin.  She had never met Merrill before, but from Varric’s vivid descriptions and the fact that the tenseness had still not left his body, she knew that this was exactly who they had been looking for.

“Are those for me?” asked Merrill excitedly, her eyes growing wider still at the sight of the flowers in Varric’s hand.  He held them out to her without a word. “Oh, daisies! My favorite.” She took them from his hand and delicately stroked a finger across a wilted petal.  They hardly resembled what they had been nearly twenty minutes prior but she seemed pleased despite their battered appearance. Taking a step back from the door she ushered them in.  “Do come in, have a seat if you’d like.” Cassandra shivered as she passed through the door, something magical lay across it like a barrier and her estimation of Merrill increased slightly.  Glad to know that she had some sort of security system after all. 

The room was small and partitioned in two by a rickety folding screen, a single lantern hung from the ceiling and cast an orange circle of light on the floor.  A long bench and a table the only pieces of furniture on their side of the room. 

“Do have a seat,” she prompted again when they had recovered from the unexpected sensation.  Cassandra found her accent quite enjoyable, her whole demeanour actually exuded a pleasant ease and friendliness.  She was having a difficult time reconciling it all with the blood mage she knew her to be. It was a prejudice long established in her, even before Anthony’s death.  But this was not her place to judge and even if she knew Varric to cavort with questionable people she knew he trusted her and that his trust was hard earned. 

“My name is Merrill, how can I help you?”  She had sensed it earlier, at the door, that something was off, but it wasn’t until that moment that she would have been able to put a finger on it.  Merrill had introduced herself. Merrill had introduced herself to Varric. Somehow, they did not know each other. Or more rightly, somehow Merrill did not know Varric.

“We’re looking for information.”  Varric spoke somberly and whatever glimmer of the Varric she knew that she had seen in him earlier was lost once again.  There was a dimness to his eyes, a shallowness to his expression. He must have known, something of it at least. Merrill not knowing who he was had not seemed to shock him, but it had most certainly saddened him.

“Not my usual request but I’ll see what I can do.”  She had no real basis from which to judge this Merrill on.  The only version of her she knew was from Varric’s book and his own tales.  But there had always been a protectiveness of her in his tone, in his descriptions and she could see why now.  Whatever had happened in Kirkwall, the desolation, the despair that was easy to spot in so many others did not seem to be present in this young woman before them.  There was a congeniality, an easiness to her despite their surroundings, despite the fact that she, as a mage, had every reason to no longer be here.

“Have you...have you heard from Hawke recently?”  She schooled her reaction so as not to show alarm, it was not the question she had expected him to ask.  Did he not already know of Hawke’s whereabouts? There was no doubt in her mind that that would have been one of if not the first thing he would have sought out when first awakening in this world.  With all that had happened last night she had not thought to ask.

“Hawke?  Well that is a name I have not heard in sometime.  I—” Merrill narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

“I just...I’d like to know that she’s safe, her and Bethany.  After Aveline…” He trailed off and she found a host of questions lurking within her.  There was more to this world for Varric then, more than he had let on, more than he had told her.

“Did you know them?”

“Briefly, but they helped me and, well...do you know?”

“They are safe the last I heard.  When the restlessness began with the Mages and the Templars Hawke smuggled Bethany out of the circle and out of Kirkwall I believe, though I could not tell you where.”  Nor would she if she did know was the implication her voice gave. Merrill must have had a certain level of trust with those who sought her out to have said anything at all she suspected.  Or perhaps the Magics that she had placed on this room would tell her of any ill wishes or lies.

“Isabela?  Fenris?” His voice was frantic in a way she had never heard it before.  Had he found none of his companions here?

“I do not know an Isabela, but Fenris…”  A look of concern crossed her face. “Well, I would hope that he is well but I would not be able to tell you I’m afraid.”  There was a sourness in her expression that had not been there before that spoke to something Cassandra had no way of understanding.

“Right”—Varric swallowed hard—“thanks.”

“Was that...that was not all you came here to ask me for was it?”  Merrill eyed them all curiously now and Cassandra’s gaze fell instinctively to the mage’s hands.  It did not go unnoticed, and Cassandra saw for the first time a sense of power in Merrill as she stared back, alert and unmoved. 

“No, actually.  But you may have even less to say on the other matter.”  Varric sounded tired again, like he had the night previous when he had reluctantly explained his past to her.  She had never known Varric to show such raw emotion, such vulnerability so freely before, it was a great worry to her now that he was slipping so easily into patterns so unlike himself.  A silence stretched between them as they waited for Varric to continue, Merrill looking at them expectantly. Cassandra had not thought that she would have to say anything, if there was one thing that Varric could be counted on to do it was to talk.  Anthony shot her a look over Varric’s head, it was not like he should be expected to speak. Warily she cleared her throat.

“Have you heard of wishing stones?”  She could see no use in beating around the bush, nor did she have the patience for it not after coming all this way.  Merrill opened her mouth to respond almost instantly, then shut it again her eyes listing downwards in thought. It was more than she could have hoped for, she had not given them an instantaneous no, had not laughed at them outright.  She glanced at Varric to gauge his reaction but he had still not come back to himself. To get his attention she laid her hand on his forearm, she needed him present at this moment. It was enough, and at her touch he seemed to come back to himself.  His eyes glanced from her hand to her face and she motioned towards Merrill in front of them.

“Wishing stones, yes”—Merrill tapped a finger against her leg—“yes I think I remember something about them from my childhood.”  Cassandra’s fingers curled into Varric’s arm, it was not the answer she had expected. “Oh of course, I remember now, ” Merrill said, clarity dawning across her face before she quickly turned and disappeared behind the screen.  Cassandra lifted slightly from her seat instinct telling her to follow not willing to let answers, so closely within her grasp, escape her now. But Merrill reappeared, dragging a chair with her. As she lowered herself into it so did Cassandra lower herself back onto hers. 

“When I and others of my age were very young the Elders of my clan would treat us to stories at night if we had been good, done all our chores, learned all our lessons, that sort of thing.  The Keeper had the best stories of course, but those were for special occasions. She always made it a point however to include a lesson in her stories, something that we were to consider or to question or to learn from.  This story in particular was about the dangers of abusing magic. Although many of them were really,” she added almost as an aside.

“The dangers of magic, and the perils of avarice,” Merrill said, straightening in her seat and taking on a more imposing stature.  It reminded her of the tutors she had had as a child, the way they had postured themselves when about to begin a lecture. 

“There once was a King of a far away land who wanted for nothing.  He had wealth, protection, comfort. He loved his Kingdom and his Kingdom loved him, but he was unhappy.  He was unhappy because try as he might, the love of a Kingdom could not replace the love of a single person.  For there was a woman, a woman he had known since childhood. A woman whom he had loved since the moment he had seen her, but who did not love him.  And on the day that she was to marry another he locked himself within his vaults and surrounded himself with the treasures and comforts that he had amassed in his lifetime.  Hoping to find solace, hoping to find peace in golds and silvers, in velvets and satins, in the splendour and wonder of things if not in the embrace of another. To pass the time until the wedding was sure to be over he decided to count all that he had and went from one item to another holding it, weighing it, measuring its worth.  Until he came to a singular piece, unlike anything else he owned. Small and black, round not unlike a coin though larger than any he knew, with a diamond shape cut from the middle and a simple leather cord running through it.” Varric leaned forward beside her and her hand gripped his arm almost mercilessly now. That was it, that was the disc they had seen, that they had touched.  Her breath stilled in her throat and she waited for Merrill to continue.

“In the low torchlight of the room it absorbed the shadows around it, and called to him.  The King held it in his hands like he had every item before it. But as it touched his skin he fell to the floor, lost to a deep sleep.  When he awoke he was not in his vaults, he was not in his castle, he was in a bed and beside him lay the woman he loved. Weeks passed and the King, who was no longer a King, was happy.  Happy to be married to the woman he loved. But weeks still passed and the King that was no longer a King found that he missed all that he had had before. He missed his wealth, he missed his protection, he missed his comfort, but he had the love of his love and that was enough.  Until it was not. Where love had been, resentment grew and the King that was no longer a King decided he had had enough of his new life. And so the King that was no longer a King set out for the castle in search of the black stone that had sent him there, but he was not granted entry for he was no longer the King.  Try as he might through theft, bribery, and deception he could not gain access to the vaults and for his attempts he was thrown in the dungeons. In the dungeons he found no wealth, he found no protection, he found no comfort and he found no love. And the King that was no longer a King became a man that was no longer a man.” 

 

\----

 

If there was air in the room he could not find it.  Varric stared at Merrill as she finished her story, his mouth agape trying and failing to breath normally.  The story had drawn too close to his own, a man losing everything for a love he had never even wanted. Well, not exactly like the man in the story but the similarities were enough to make him feel uneasy.  More uneasy that was than he had already been feeling since waking up here. But not really waking up if what she had said was true. The King had fallen into a deep sleep upon touching the stone, were they then too asleep back in the bottom of the ruins?  Was this really all in their minds?

“If he had gotten the stone—if he had been able to find it what would he have needed to do, to return?”  He didn’t know how Cassandra had found the ability to speak when he couldn’t seem to find even the thinnest wisp of air in the room but she was asking the right questions if a tad indelicately.  Not that he was in a position to criticize as he had lost all sense of subtlety earlier. 

“Oh...um, that wasn’t really the point of the story.”  Whatever reaction Merrill had expected from them that was not it, she looked confused at the intensity they were now exuding.  Well him and the Seeker at least, Anthony seemed positively sullen.

“Yes, yes.  But there must have been a way.  Why did he want the stone back?” Cassandra was like a mabari with the scent of blood, relentless in her pursuit.  Focused, determined. If there were answers to be had, she would have them.

“To break it I think—I don’t really know, it’s just a fable you understand.  A cautionary tale there isn’t any truth to it.” Cassandra bowled over her, another question hot on her lips.

“And you said that he fell into a deep sleep, then the new world it was what, a dream?  In his mind?” Merrill stood abruptly causing both him and Cassandra to rear back to accommodate for the change in perspective.  He could tell by her posture and the slight upturn of her head that Merrill was trying to regain control of the situation.

“I think it would be best for you to leave, I cannot answer your questions,” she said tersely.  Cassandra opened her mouth probably to protest if he had any guess so he put a hand over her increasingly crushing grip on his arm to stop her.  Merrill was not someone to be underestimated and as intriguing as the thought of the two of them going head to head was, two of the most stubborn and strong willed women he knew, it was not going to accomplish anything at the moment.  They had overstayed their welcome.

Varric rose from the bench and brought Cassandra with him, their arms jumbled together.  She managed a strangled noise of complaint before he was bundling her out the door, trusting Anthony to follow.  He both felt and heard the door slam behind them as Cassandra forced her arm from his. He watched as the immediate flash of anger within her was superceded by a sense of defeat when she realized there was no going back.  She took a step towards the door regardless and he blocked her path.

“Move Varric,” she growled lowly.  Why was it always him on the receiving end of her glares?  He barely recognized his name from her mouth when it was not said in anger, not said with hostility. 

“She doesn’t know anything else Seeker, let it be.”  He tried to placate her. 

“But—”

“Think about what we did learn, we know what to do now.”  Her gaze lowered to the ground and she began mindlessly twisting her fingers working through all that had just happened.  He waited, not wanting to influence her thought process or pressure her into a quick response. From what Merrill had said he could see now what they had to do, return to Orlais.  Cross the Waking Sea and retrieve the artifact from the ruins. If the story rang true, and there had to be some truth to it even if Merrill did not know it, then finding the artifact was their next step.  Cassandra’s hands stilled though they still gripped at each other tightly. 

“You are right,” she said finally, her tone resolute. 

“What was that?”  He held a hand to his ear in a mocking gesture.

“Varric,” she snapped, and okay so maybe there was a reason she only ever said his name like that.

“Kidding, kidding.  You were saying?”

“We need to leave, as soon as possible.”  He nodded in response.

“Good, then we’re on the same page.”  His mind was already working through the possibilities.  As much as he hated it by ship would be fastest, it was finding one that would be the issue.  It wasn’t like trade and travel was readily available in the city anymore. No, if they were going to find transport out of the city it wouldn’t be through reputable sources, that was for sure.  But time was of the essence surely. If their bodies were alive somewhere, how long did they have in this world? The story had taken place over weeks, months even but what elements of the tale did they really want to risk?  “We need a boat.”

“Yes, I agree, that would be best.  But one might be difficult to come by with—”  She raised a hand to indicate their surroundings.

“I’ll think of something, but we should head back we’re aren’t going to find one here.”  Slowly they had been inching their way down the lane, stopping and starting as their minds had reeled to comprehend everything but now he picked up his pace and began moving with purpose.  With a nod of tacit agreement Cassandra followed after him.

“You are accepting this then?”  Varric turned around, Cassandra not far behind him to find that Anthony had not moved at all from the door at the end of the lane.

“Anthony?”  Cassandra left his side and moved back towards her brother.

“You believe then that this world is not real?  That I am not…” Maker, he hadn’t even considered the implications that Merrill’s tale had had.  For himself and Cassandra yes, but not for Anthony. Anthony, who if Merrill was to be believed, was nothing more than the creation of magic.  Some very powerful, very strong magic, but magic nonetheless. He’d had no trouble considering and treating the residents of this world as if they were not real because how could he not?  How could he reconcile the world he knew with this one and all that his choices had done to it without safeguarding himself by trusting in its falsehood. This wasn’t real, they weren’t real therefore he did not need to feel guilt or remorse for anything that his past self had done to create it.  But could he really expect Anthony to believe that? This man before him who knew nothing of their other world, for whom this was his life and they had merely stumbled into it. How could he tell him that what he knew, what he remembered, what he felt was any less real than his own thoughts and feelings?

He chanced a look at Cassandra and instantly regretted it.  It was one thing to see her angry, to see her spit fire at him for something he had said or done.  But he could not stand to see her unhappy, lost or distraught as she clearly was now. She did not deserve it.  And these thoughts about the existence of her brother may have been new to him but they were certainly not new to her.

“Anthony, please.”  She took another step towards him and he put out a hand to stop her, stepping back in the process.

“Don’t, I...just go.  Please,” his voice was getting quieter and quieter as he spoke.

“What?  No.” There was a tremor in her voice that shot through him, that disrupted something within him deep and fundamental.  He had never seen Cassandra vulnerable before, not to this extent. There had been a hint of it there when he had held her in the Hanged Man, and then again when she had recounted what had happened to her but not like this.  Her whole manner had changed and for the first time ever she seemed dominated by her armour as if it was too big and the weight of it too strong. Maker he wanted to help her, reach out and aid her but he knew it was not his place.  

“I’ll find you I promise, but please go.  Now.” Cassandra stood still, unmoving and Varric’s eyes flickered between the pair.  Anthony looked at him intently and he could see a plea within his eyes. There was no love lost between them but he was asking for his help now and he wouldn’t deny him it.  Tentatively Varric took a step towards Cassandra readying himself for whatever she may say or do in the heat of the moment.

“Seeker?”  He knew that she had heard him but she didn’t turn or acknowledge him in any way.  Taking a calculated risk he slowly and loosely wrapped his hand around her wrist. “C’mon Cassandra.”  He didn’t tug at her arm or urge her to move, he waited. Waited until she was ready, until she had decided to move, to leave.  And she did eventually, when Anthony cast his eyes downward and would no longer even look at them, then she moved. He had expected her to wrench from his grasp as she had earlier but when she finally turned from her brother she slid her hand into his and let him guide her all the way back through Darktown and to the Hanged Man in deafening silence. 

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**** Varric stepped back into the Hanged Man for the third time that day, the door closing quick on his heels with a sudden gust of wind.  He blinked away at the light to let his eyes adjust to the darkened common room and searched in vain for a familiar face. Neither the Seeker nor her brother were to be found but he hadn’t really expected to see either of them.  When he and Cassandra had returned to the Hanged Man together hours before she had barricaded herself in her room. He’d tried to talk to her, console her if need be but she had asked him to leave, asked him to give her time. And though he’d wanted to stay, to help her he really didn’t know what to say on the matter.  She was facing something that he could barely understand. It was not as though he had never lost someone before, but this was different, unthinkably different. He had shunned what this world had created for him, what would he have to say to someone who wanted to keep it? Worse yet, someone who wanted to keep it but knew they couldn’t, and so he had left, as she had asked and gone to search for passage across the Waking Sea.

Midday had come and gone, afternoon had rolled in with heavy winds and greying skies, then evening had risen cool and crisp before he’d been able to find what he was looking for.  Regular means of travel had all but dried up ages ago. Apparently no one wanted to ferry refugees when there was even the slightest possibility of harbouring a mage or mage supporters by accident.  At best a Captain may have had their ship confiscated by the Templars, at worst they could be executed for aiding and abetting. And how many riots at sea had there been when whispers ran below deck, accusations flying as deadly as any spell or knife?  It had left the docks barren.

He had been unsurprised to find only trade and merchant vessels left along the shores of Kirkwall now, and even they were few and far between.  There was no use bringing wares to a city when there was no one to buy them. The few vessels he had seen may have well been Qunari Dreadnoughts as useful as they were to him with their Chantry sigils and heraldry.  Supplies and reinforcements for the Templars, and certainly not a viable option for the likes of them.

This of course left them with few options, and none as reputable as Cassandra was sure to have wanted.  But if speed was what they needed they were unlikely to find anyone faster than smugglers. It was their business after all to steer clear of any possible dangers.  And if there was one thing you could count on in warzone, it was smugglers. There was always a call for something when all other means of reputable business had dissolved.  He’d managed to secure them passage on a relatively small ship that was willing to leave that night if they could scrounge up the gold to make it worth their while. Something he certainly didn’t have but was willing to bet the others did.  Whether or not they could leave tonight at all was another question entirely however. If Anthony had not yet returned, he had no doubt that they would not be leaving and he would not have asked Cassandra to make that choice. Not yet anyway.

Varric made his way through the tables and the smattering of early evening customers and climbed the stairs to the second floor.  The closer he got to the rooms of Anthony and Cassandra the more twisted his stomach got. He lingered in the hallway between them a weight heavy in his gut.  The shadow under Anthony’s door signalled its emptiness, but there was still a chance that he was with Cassandra. Varric carefully picked his way across the floorboards, and held his ear up to her door.  He could hear someone moving inside but no voices, not a good sign then. He stood there silently and debated with himself whether or not to knock. He really did need to talk to her, if to tell her about the ship at the very least.  But truly he was concerned, how could he not be? A lot had happened to them in the past few days and as emotionally devastating as it had been for him the troubles had not ended for her. Whether or not she wanted to talk to him about any of it was still to be seen but he could at least offer.  She had listened to him after all, even if he had sprung it all on her without warning and even if he had regretted telling her most of it. With a shake of his head Varric stepped back from the door, she had asked to be alone and it would be better if he just respected that. He turned and stepped further away from the door when it flung open behind him, spilling light out into the hallway.

“Anthony?”  Cassandra called out, a hopefulness so easily understandable in her voice.  Shit. He was glad that he had not been facing her when she opened the door because just imagining the look of sour realization crossing her face when she saw that it wasn’t her brother was heart wrenching enough for him.  He turned back around slowly to give her time for actuality to set in but even still he could see the disappointment in her eyes.

“Sorry Seeker, I didn’t mean to bother you.”  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels trying hard not to add anymore severity to the atmosphere.  “Found a ship, if we can pay. And by we I mean you.”

“Yes...of course.”  Maker she sounded tired.  “You did not see...”

“No,” he said softly with a shake of his head, and she nodded slowly in response.  A strand of hair slid down her shoulder with the movement and he realized that for the first time her hair was down.  He traced the piece up with his eyes and marvelled at the sight. The light coming from behind her bounced off the ebony coloured strands illuminating her.  The sleek straight lines of her hair framed her face and accentuated the already sharp lines of her cheekbones and jawline. He might have thought that long hair would soften her but that would have been an insult to the beauty she inherently possessed. 

Cassandra rested a hand on her neck and the motion from her brought him quickly back to himself.  Maker’s balls, if she had noticed. He chanced a look and silently praised the Maker, before cringing internally when he found her staring off at the door to Anthony’s room.  She was in pain and he had been ogling her. Classy.

“Was that all?”  She was still looking at Anthony’s door.

“Um...actually, did you want to talk about...anything?”  He couldn’t have sounded any more lame if he had tried. Was it so hard for him to just say to her, I’m worried about you and I’m here if you need to talk.

“Me?”  She sounded genuinely surprised.

“Well, yeah.  I mean, this can’t be easy for you and you put up with my bullshit—not that yours is bullshit,” he rushed to get out once he’d heard what he’d said.  Cassandra laughed weakly and gave him a smile that did not meet her eyes.

“Come in Varric.”  She stepped aside to let him pass and closed the door behind them.  He took a seat at the table in the corner of the room near the door, diagonally across the room from the bed where he had sat the night before.  Cassandra took a seat across from him and in the light of the room, still dim but brighter than the hallway, he could see now that her eyes were red and puffy.  She’d been crying. It made him angry at himself that he had not pressed harder to stay with her before.

“How are you feeling Varric?”  The question took him aback.

“How am  _ I _ feeling?  How are  _ you _ feeling?”

“I meant to ask you this morning but time slipped away from me.  Did you think I had forgotten what you told me last night?”

“I sorta hoped you had,” he mumbled under his breath.

“And what you asked Merrill, there is more going on here is there not?”  How had this become about him?

“There is but it doesn’t matter.”  He paused with a sigh. “No, okay it does but there’s a more pressing issue here and it’s not mine.”  Her eyes dropped to her hands on the table between them. “Are you prepared to leave Anthony behind?” He hadn’t meant to be so blunt but then again he knew she preferred it when he did not talk in circles.

“I know what I must do,” her voice wavered and a sheen of wetness began to cover her eyes.  “But that does not make it any easier for me. I lost him once and I did not think I would ever have to lose him again.”  

“Would you prefer if we left without him?”  He didn’t want to be asking these questions, he didn’t want to be causing her pain and suffering.  Maker take him if she cried in front of him he would lose himself. It was already taking everything he had not to reach across the table and hold her tight as he had upon first seeing her again.  But she would not accept such a display from him, that was not the kind of relationship they had. It had taken not one, but two world shifting events for them to even be able to talk to one another beyond idle banter.  To move beyond that? He wasn’t sure they could withstand a third.

“You will think me selfish I am afraid.  Foolish as well, but I cannot. I cannot leave him, not when there is still time yet.”

“Seeker, I have called you many things but never selfish.”

“You have done poorly to be stuck here with me Varric, I have only complicated matters,” she said it jokingly but neither of them laughed.

“If it had been anyone else I’d probably already be dead.”  Cassandra gave a rueful huff. “I’m serious! The only thing that got me through those first few days was thinking about what you would do if you were here.  Find the Inquisition, find Solas, get answers,” he said in mock sternness. “Your voice on repeat in the back of my head.”

“You give me too much credit Varric.”  They shared a knowing look, it was not something he could have ever said he’d been accused of.  “For that was not my plan...well, not all of it.”

“Tell me then, what did I miss?”

“The first step”—she looked him straight in the eye, all traces of her burgeoning tears gone—“to find  _ you _ .”  His heart stuttered and if he had possessed the ability to blush there was no doubt in his mind he would have flushed a deep screaming red in that moment.  Not that his body wasn’t making a tremendous effort at it all the same, he felt suddenly hot all over. She wasn’t serious was she? Not that finding her had been an afterthought to him, but Cassandra was practical above all else.  And he certainly didn’t fall high on the list of practicality. 

“Glad to know you understand how completely helpless I am,” he joked in response the only thing he could think to do and her face fell.

“Of course you would take offense to that I merely—”

“Seeker,” he interrupted.  “Thanks, for thinking of me,” he said sincerely.  

“Oh...well, you’re welcome.”  A small smile played at the corners of her lips, and a look he would have called shy had it been on anyone else played in her downcast eyes.  “And thank  _ you _ , for thinking of me.”  She may have meant his poor efforts to find her, or his actions in this very moment but he could not be sure.  He accepted her gratitude, and the bright feeling it arose within him all the same. Had he been a bolder man he would have kissed her hand, done something to show his feelings beyond words that he bandied about so carelessly.  But he was not and instead they sat in comfortable silence and he was glad just to have her smile directed at him.

“You found a ship?”  He nodded. “When does it leave?”

“Tonight if we want, but there will be others if not.”  He was trying his best to deemphasize a timeline. She didn’t need the added stress of worrying about whether or not Anthony would return in time.  She nodded slowly, digesting the information. 

“If that is the case I would like to try and get some sleep, I find myself quite drained.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Varric said with an understanding nod.  Rising from his chair he made for the door. When he had passed Cassandra’s chair he felt a hand on his arm stopping him in his tracks.  He looked at it and then at her.

“Would you…”  Her eyes would not meet his.  “Would you stay?” For the second time that day he could not find the air to breath and just as before Cassandra’s hand posed as an anchor between him and reality.  Without a second thought he nodded mutely until he remembered that she could not see it, her eyes fixated on anywhere but him.

“Sure,” he said.  It came out breathy, more like a whiff of air than a confirmation, but she had heard him.  Her hand retreated from his arm and she stood and made her way across the room to the bed. He waited until she had settled herself, stretched out, back to the room before he followed her.  Standing at the edge of the bed he wasn’t exactly sure what he should do, there was enough room for him on the bed as well but he didn’t want to assume. Without turning around Cassandra stretched her arm behind her, into the space between them, reaching to him.  Right then, this was happening. 

Varric sat on the edge of the bed then carefully laid down behind her, leaving a hands width of space between them.  Exactly a hands width as Cassandra’s hand still lay there for him to measure it by. Her hand turned on the blanket top, presenting her palm to him and he stared at it with great trepidation.  As if taking her hand was some monumental step even after agreeing to lay with her in a bed. He took her hand all the same before she changed her mind, came to her senses and booted him from her room.  She wrapped her long fingers around his shorter ones and pulled his arm across her side, settling their hands against her chest. He could feel her heartbeat underneath his hand, wild and erratic like his own.

Had he been wrong about what she’d said to him last night?  Had it not been a warding but an admission? With her permission Varric moved closer to Cassandra, settled more comfortably on the bed behind her.  He let his head fall against the back of her neck, just barely touching her where her hair had fallen to the side and her skin was exposed and fell into an easy sleep on the back of her remembered words.   _ You are not undeserving of love. _

 

\---- 

 

Waking up was becoming a test of willpower for her.  How quickly would she remember what was happening? How soon until the cloud of hazy memory passed and was replaced by a burning sense of worry and guilt?  Her body jerked awake and her mind soon followed more sluggishly than normal, more hesitantly as if it was finally aware of what was happening to her and was trying to stave realization off for a few more blessed moments.  Like a heavy weight on her mind to match the weight across her side. She faintly traced the edges of Varric’s hand still held tightly against her breast, not yet ready to wake him, not yet ready to face what she had begun.  It was a marvel truly, how well Varric slept despite all that was happening. He had fallen asleep nearly instantly while she had lain awake for some time listening to his shallow breathing. Feeling the heat of his breath trace across her back.  It was the sheer warmth of him, the safety that his presence exuded that had eventually lulled her into sleep, and she was fairly sure that it was what was keeping her from feeling the full force of the anxiety of their situation now.

It was not something she was used to, sharing oneself so openly, so intimately.  And yes the situation was abnormal and there was something to be said for proximity, that they were living a shared experience, a unique experience with no others to confide in.  But she felt a surety that had it been anyone else, had she found herself in this place with any of her other comrades that it would not have resulted in this. In the development of such feelings she had not experienced in years.  Too many years though she had been telling herself otherwise for some time now. Varric was handsome, and witty and he made her blood boil for more than one reason, and it had felt like they were on a path to something, before all of this.  But she could not have foreseen what had happened, how it had all changed so rapidly. She could not have foreseen the level, the depth of feeling she now had for him. 

Being here was like walking through another person’s most intimate thoughts and feelings.  Like living their vulnerabilities, their indiscretions, their desires. It made it almost impossible to hide oneself.  They were learning of each other more than could have ever been said, more than either of them had ever wanted to say. She was catching glimpses into what had made Varric the man he was, slowly coming to understanding in a way that made it possible for her to see beyond the decades of well crafted guise he wore as well did she.

Cassandra breathed deeply and relished in the resistance she felt, the solid force of Varric pressed against her back.  She could not have said what overcame her, what had possessed her to ask him to stay. She had been feeling weak, not in strength but in spirit, a culmination of nearly a weeks long strain on every element of her being.  And he had been so caring. Though it seemed like too short sighted of a word. Then again it may have been the look in his eyes, for the briefest of instants, when she had told him that upon awakening her first concern had been of him.  Astonishment or disbelief perhaps that had made her want to prove her words to him, prove them unhollow. She had been so sure he would say no that she had been unable to look at him, though that too had not stopped her from asking all the same.  For the pursuit of truth did not stop at only the appealing answers, and once known within her she would not have seen her feelings sat idly by. And how glad she was that she had not, for now she felt a sense of calm against all that was happening.  A strength from which to pull when she could not find it within herself as she hoped she would be for him were he to need it.

Heavy footsteps in the hall and a chorus of drunken yells violently pulled her from her thoughts, and Varric from his sleep with a startled snort.  A stark interruption of breath that made her shoulders quake in silent laughter. His arm tightened around her, pulling her further into him and his forehead came to rest between her shoulders though it did nothing to stop their movement.

“Please tell me I wasn’t snoring.”  His voice rumbled low and gravelly across her back, sending shockwaves up and down her spine.  Her laughter stilled as a heat began to spread across her body from all points of contact between them.  His head at her back, his arm at her side, the ghosting of his chest against her back and his thighs against her own. 

“Like a raging bronto, I did not sleep a wink,” she lied and slid her leg down his.  A poor imitation of a stretch that entwined them further. He hummed against her back and she felt it ripple upwards as he moved his head.

“Maybe we should try again.”  His breath was hot against the crook of her neck, and she was sure he felt the shudder that ran through her.  Dropping her shoulder she turned towards him, bringing them nearly face to face. She had never seen him look at her that way before, wanting.  Something close to it on late nights in the Herald’s Rest, legs brushing under the table, hands lingering, when a look was the most they were willing to convey.  But not like this, not with such intensity, such assurance. She let go of his hand where it lay now across her stomach and in its absence he claimed her side fully, with a broad expanse of fingers.  Lifting her hand she grazed the side of his cheek, the stubble across his jawline with the back of her fingers.

“I find myself quite refreshed all the same,” she said, her voice quiet but strong.  Her eyes flickered down to his lips then back up, an unspoken invitation. She let her hand fall from his face to his chest, felt his heart beating there beneath her touch.  Varric leaned in and she closed her eyes, felt her chest constrict in anticipation.

There was a knock at the door.

They did not spring apart like new lovers, shy in their affections, afraid of being caught.  They stared at each other still and waiting. The knock came again.

“Cassie?”  Anthony. 

Her eyes dropped from Varric’s and his hands retreated without her having to ask.  Swiftly they parted, both rising from the bed. She made for the door but felt the touch of Varric’s fingers light in her hair and she turned to him.

“Bedhead,” he said with a shrug and a grin.  Her hand went to spot where his had been and smoothed over the strands again, a smile in her eyes for him before she turned back around to the door.  

The metal of the door handle was cold and hard in her hands, a stark juxtaposition from the soft haziness she had been lost in moments before.  It caused a moment's hesitation before she opened the door in one swift jerk. Anthony was halfway across the hall, moving back to his room already but stopped as she opened the door. 

“You are back?”  He faced her and opened his mouth, a response dying on his lips before nodding his head instead.  “May we talk?” She inclined her head towards his door and closed hers behind her. 

“I would like that, yes.”  He eyed her door before turning to his own.

Anthony’s room held none of the warmth that hers did having stood empty since the sun had set.  Together they lit what candles and lanterns were provided then settled at opposite ends of the room, the silence waxing between them.  It felt like it had upon her arrival, the barrier of the wishing stone as solid as ever. But now known to both of them and not only her.  

Anthony was the first to speak.

“You understand that I cannot accept this.  That this, that I”—his head turned from her—“do not exist.  Am but a fabrication of some strong and unknown magics. I have memories Cassandra.  I have scars. I feel things, I know things, how can that not be real? How can that not be true?”  She could not give him an answer though she suspected he knew that and expected none. 

It had been but a story, what Merrill had told them.  But it had also been as she had thought, as she had guessed from what she could piece together of all that was happening around her, to her.  Yet still she could not deny Anthony his view for she would not have said that he was not real. Had it been wrong to tell him? It struck her then that it had been a purely selfish move.  A drastic attempt to save what she had sought, their relationship. But at the expense of him and all he knew.

“I cannot accept that my entire life, my entire being is fantasy and nothing more.”  There was an agony in his voice that matched her own feelings, for she had forced this upon him.  All of it. 

“Forgive me Anthony I did not mean for this.  I was thinking only of myself when I told you, I did not want to lose you.  Not again.” Of course there must have been a part of her that had known her actions to be self-serving, but she had not thought that they would hurt him.  It had never been her intention though that was no excuse.

“No Cassandra, I am not blaming you.  Would it have been better for me to not know of this?  Possibly. But had you not told me of this I may have left you, or worse.  You seek answers and now so do I. I will continue to journey with you, if you will have me, but…”  He shook his head and left his words hanging. But what? 

Anthony turned back to her, there was a weak smile on his face as if to say to her that all was well.  That things could be as they had been between them, but the hurt remained in his eyes and she knew that whatever he had begun to say still lay within him.  She wanted to press, she wanted to demand of his concerns of his worries lest they fester and grow between them but she smiled in return instead. What right did she have now to ask more of him than he was willing to give?  

“You will come with us?” she asked tentatively, bypassing that which he left unspoken.  His shoulders relaxed and it was obvious to her that he had been expecting her to question him on his words.  That he was glad to have her move past without drawing attention to it. 

“Til the end.”  His smile grew, but the pain in his eyes remained.

 

\---- 

 

Varric hated sand and he hated hills.  Which he hated more was debatable and dependent on his mood plus the general state of his knees but one thing he knew for certain, he hated sandy hills the most.  The moon was shining, the breeze was cool and he was loathing every second of it as his foot slid backwards yet again against the slight incline they were climbing. 

They had made it out of the city with only minimal incident.  Routine patrols, a curfew, and any number of unsavoury fellows had posed an initial problem.  But he had been more concerned about his knowledge of the city and all its alternate passages in and out being useless in this new reality.  In the end luck had been on their side and they had escaped through a trapdoor leading into the maze-like tunnel system of Darktown inside one of many abandoned warehouses.  Trekking through the tunnels had taken maybe a bit longer than he’d anticipated, but really he’d only taken a wrong turn once. Well, twice. Okay two and half times at the most, but who was counting.  Regardless they’d made it out safe and sound to the mountains that lined the shore. 

There had been a moment before the tunnels where stealth had almost failed them, embarrassing really as it had been him to make the mistake.  Though it could have been any of them, as distracted as they all were. Whatever Cassandra and Anthony had said to each other it obviously hadn’t been enough.  She had nearly bored a hole through the back of his head with all the furtive glances she had been giving him. Again, lucky for him, as it had meant that she hadn’t noticed the similar looks he had been throwing her way.  Or possibly not. Had she noticed, and chastised him appropriately he may not have nearly handed them over neatly packaged to the Templars.

A stupid, rookie mistake not checking the path forward thoroughly enough.  Had it not been for the sheer incompetence, or just plain laziness of the night patrol that had narrowly crossed their path they may not have been currently enjoying all the delights and pleasures that the mountains had to offer.  Of course solid ground wasn’t looking too bad right about now, even if it would have been the rough hewn stone of a dungeon cell. Still, a mistake that should never have happened, and would never have had his mind not been somewhere else entirely.  And how could it not have been with what had happened between Cassandra and him? Well, almost happened.

They’d nearly kissed.  He could still feel the heat of her breath on his lips, the curl of her fingers on his chest, the slight give of her waist under his hand.  It made his skin tighten just to think about it, his mind cloud in a burning haze like the fog of exertion at the height of a summer’s heat.  He’d imagined similar situations, he’d thought about it for sure but in hypotheticals, wild speculations, darkest fantasies. Never in actualities.  Never in tactile realities.

He’d heard her say it once, that she liked the attention.  It had been in reference to Bull’s flirtations, but he’d always assumed it held true for the two of them as well.  Even if she did seem to allow far more from him than she did from Bull. It seemed pedantic now to wonder if she did in fact return his affections, Cassandra wasn’t one to play.  And he liked to think in no small matter that she wouldn’t do that to him, not now. Especially not now, not when she unlike anyone else knew what he had been through, what he was going through.  No, he’d had time to mull it over when she had been speaking to her brother and Cassandra was not a woman to do things by halves. That she had done anything at all, and now with so much else that was happening, it meant that this was not something unimportant to her.  Not trivial or base which could only mean that she felt something for him, something deep enough for her to act on it. There was a conversation, or many that they needed to have. Unfortunate seeing as how the disclosure of information between them had never really been their strong suit, though they were getting better at it even if it wasn’t by choice. 

The silence that had been a necessity while still within the boundaries of the city, and then less so in the tunnels, still persisted.  Cassandra had stopped looking at Anthony every chance she got, though occasionally her brow would still knit and he didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that it was all connected.  He would have asked her about it if the opportunity had presented itself but their current setting was not the most opportune for such a type of conversation. Still, it bothered him that something was bothering her and just because they couldn’t talk about it didn’t mean they couldn’t talk at all.  Varric fell back closer to Cassandra, letting Anthony outpace him and take the lead. The path would only lead in one direction for awhile yet, they didn’t need his guidance at the moment.

“Just like old times huh.”  She eyed him suspectly.

“If you are referring to our last voyage out of Kirkwall then no I do not believe it is just like old times.  I seem to remember a distinct lack of sneaking around then.”

“And there’s no shackles this time,” he added and waited for her inevitable reaction.  

“I—”  Her lip curled with annoyance and he tried to hide his smirk.  “Must you play the victim. You were in no way incapacitated at the time.  You did not even have to come,” she spoke with a tired irritation that came from repeating an argument over and over. 

“Yes, because one routinely denies an invitation from the Divine.  Especially those that come with armed guards,” he said lightly, just shy of mockingly.  He wasn’t chasing an argument after all, just a distraction, something to shift her thoughts. 

“You were under no obligation—you...”  He could see her fingers flexing in and out of fists just on the edge of her cloak, her jaw clenching as she tried to restrain herself.  He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice.

“Aren’t you glad I did?” he said with a raised eyebrow.  Her eyes widened before she tried to school her face into a more impassive look.

“Not at this particular moment,” she said coolly, a hint of something in her eyes betraying her words.

“Ahh then there are some moments.”

“Fleeting, I assure you.”  He was really starting to enjoy that tone of voice from her, that seemed to be reserved solely for him.  Flat and with a hint of contrived condescension.

“Give a guy a chance, and we’ll see just how long those moments can be.”  Now it was his turn to speak in such a way as only for her. He’d felt her tremble against him earlier that evening as he spoke, his voice gruff and hoarse from sleep.  Harder to replicate now, but his attempt wasn’t too far off its mark if the sudden and swift change in her carriage was anything to go by.

“Varric.”  His name sounded low on her lips, a warning in her eyes as they flashed towards Anthony.

“I’m only saying, interruptions aside they don’t have to be fleeting.”  He was close enough to her now that he could have grabbed her hand where it peaked out against the opening of her cloak.  His own fingers twitched at the thought of holding her once again, feeling the powerful muscle of her body as it molded against the rough skin of his hands.  His voice dropped again despite their proximity, his words for her and her alone. “We could make one night feel like a hundred, curse a thousand sunrises and beg for a thousand more.”  His hand barely brushed against her own yet he felt the faint pull of the tips of her fingers on his, almost imperceptible like the flicker of a flame in still air. “Time Cassandra, we can make of it what we will.”

She stopped him with a hand on his arm, firm and bold in counterpoint to his hesitant touches.  Cassandra stared at him, the moonlight reflecting in her eyes for what felt like ages before she spoke.

“Every moment, the good, the ill, all the devastation and destruction that evil has wrought has led me here...led  _ us _ here.  How can I be thankful for that?”  She took a shallow breath. “What does it say of me that I am?”

“It says that there is value in this, our lives.  In the choices we make.” He could see her mulling his words over in her mind, her eyes downcast in thought.  Varric took a step further up the slope, putting them nearly at eye level and raised a hand to her cheek. Her eyes lifted to meet his and the conflict within her was evident.

Anthony had been right when he had named her empathy, the level of awareness that drove her in all things.  Consequences, repercussions, these were not things he concerned himself with. He let himself float on the breezes of change, be pulled by coursing riptides created by others but not her, she was exacting.  Seeing her now, conflicted over what he could only assume was an internal debate at the value, the very worth of her own happiness. It made him ache to know that she must always question putting herself first in her own life.  

“Cassandra.”  He let her name linger on his lips, revelled in the way it rolled off his tongue before continuing on.  “You are not undeserving of love.” He echoed her words back to her, and wondered if she had ever applied them to herself. 

He had not meant for this, for it to go so far.  He had only been trying to draw her out of herself, be for her what she had been for him.  This was not the ideal situation for such a weighted conversation, but it had come naturally despite himself and he would not have stunted it for the sake of small inconveniences.  He shifted the weight of his feet unsure now of what to do and what to say. The sand gave way beneath him and slid him, almost pulled him downwards closer to Cassandra. The nearness forced him to look up at her and when he did he saw the change in her features, a laxness overtaking the sternness in her brow.  Her hand on his arm moved less confidently than before and trailed up to his shoulder, then to the nape of his neck as she leaned down towards him. He rose his chin to meet her lips and close the sliver of air between them that allowed for nothing more than the shine of the moon above them.

“East or west?” called Anthony from afar. 

A stiffness ran through the both of them, a sudden tautness in his muscles mirrored in the rigidity of Cassandra’s form beneath his hand.  He had to give it to the man, he had impeccable timing. They parted reluctantly, his arm swinging dead-like back to his side as a low near rumble escaped from Cassandra.  She stepped past Varric and he stopped her before she could get too far in front of him.

“Hold that thought?”  The earnestness that he had attempted to quash in his features broke through in his voice.

“How could I possibly forget it?” 

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

The silence had returned as the three of them continued on through the mountain pass to a secluded inlet where they were to find the smugglers, but it wasn’t bothering Varric as it had before.  Cassandra shot him a quiet smile and he felt himself begin to walk a bit taller. Even the shifting sand under his feet and the steep hills seemed less of a hindrance for the moment.

The path began to wind downwards, the sand giving easily under their feet, propelling them forward.  They were close. It remained a mystery to him that these shores were not better patrolled. He had never known for them to be used for anything else beyond smuggling, illegal trade and copious amounts of murder.  Was it too much of an effort or not worth the risk? 

The sound of movement and low voices grew louder as the higher ground of the mountains gave way to the rolling dunes of the coast.  Varric climbed ahead of the others, low to the ground, and crested the top of a sand dune eyes searching for the man he had spoken with.  He was there as well as a handful of others, men, elves and dwarves alike under the moonlight, hefting crates and barrels out of longboats run up across the shore.  In the distance a black shadow of a larger ship lay further out to sea. Varric scrambled back down the sand to Cassandra and Anthony.

“Everything seems in order, but uh...just be on guard and let me do all the talking,” he whispered, and received matching raised eyebrows from the two of them but no actual complaints or dissenting.  Cassandra pulled at the hilt of her sword at her side and he too loosened his daggers in their sheathes. He really missed Bianca, the familiar weight on his back, the confidence and surety he felt with her firmly in his hands.  He preferred not to be too up close and personal in a fight, but in a pinch he was still handy with a blade. 

He made a show of entering into the campsite, announcing their presence instead of sneaking up on the others.  The work in front of them stopped and he heard blades being drawn around them. The man he had spoken with, tall and surly, skin a deep brown and weathered from the inescapable sun asea stepped forward out of the clump of workers. 

“You got the money?”  Varric produced a small pouch from inside his coat and held it out towards the man.

“Half now, the rest on arrival.”  It’s what they’d agreed upon but Varric didn’t miss the slight tick in the man’s cheek.  Still, he took the pouch and poured the coins into his hand. Quickly and deftly his fingers flicked through them, counting.  Without so much a nod of approval he funneled the coin back into its pouch and pocketed it inside a wide sash at his waist.

“Get in.”  He cocked his head to the line of longboats and Varric resisted the urge to give him an ‘Aye, Aye Cap’n.’  

They made their way to the water’s edge and the work around them started up again.  As Anthony climbed into a boat Varric kept his gaze on the beach, they’d need their wits about them on this voyage.  It would be just as easy for the smugglers to murder them where they stood, or in their sleep and take the rest of what they were owed.  He’d known smugglers in the past, hells he still held connections with most of them and though many held to a strict code of conduct he knew it could not be said for all of them.  But they were desperate and so some risk was inevitable. It was going to be a tense next few days of that he was certain. 

Anthony held out a hand for Cassandra and she accepted his support into the boat.  With one leg over the side her hand still in Anthony’s and she froze, her eyes fixated on something across the beach.

“Cassie?” asked Anthony worriedly then looked to Varric when he received no answer.  Together they turned to look across the sands, following Cassandra’s intense gaze. There was a moment, one last blissfully ignorant moment when all Varric could see was the back and forth of barrels being rolled across the sand, and crates being dragged and stacked further up the beach.  But then a gap in the assembly line formed and he saw her. Bianca, and she was looking straight at him.

“You have got to be kidding me.”  The words slipped from his mouth in disbelief as he began calculating the odds of getting themselves packed into the longboat and shipped off before she made the length of the beach.  Even without the smugglers as they were surely supposed to wait for it did not look good. “Do you think it matters if I’m all in one piece when we go back?” A rhetorical question he hoped, but he did not foresee this confrontation going well. 

“Do try and keep all your limbs, I have grown quite attached to them,” said Cassandra dryly, a grimace forming on her lips.   

“You and me both Seeker,” he responded with just as much enthusiasm and took a deep, steadying breath.  In and out, one, two, three. He counted his breaths and tried to maintain a visage of neutrality, something passive and unlikely to incite anything.  Bianca moved closer to them, stalking across the beach. He had nowhere to go, nothing to do but wait for whatever tempest was coming his way. The sound of the water pulling and sweeping across the shore, crashing in waves, a broken but steady rhythm as it hit the boats first and then the beach intensified in his ears until it was all he could hear.  It rushed and pounded like the blood pumping through his veins, one, two, three. His breathing was quicker now, more erratic. Cassandra stepped backwards out of the boat back onto the beach and the torrent of noise rushing through his head receded. She said nothing, shared no looks with him as she stood imposing as ever even in ankle deep water. Did she expect a fight?  Was she trying to intimidate? Whatever she was thinking he was grateful for her tacit support. 

Bianca stopped just shy of the bow of the boat between them and stood silent long enough for the waves to erase her path in the sand behind her.  He wasn’t going to speak first, he had said all he needed to say to her. 

“Took the job then did you.”  It wasn’t a question but an opening, though there was an unmistakable hostility beneath her words.  It radiated off of her so intensely he thought she might begin to flay the skin from his body with just a look.

“As did you apparently.”  He spoke carefully, indifferently but hopefully non-combatively, a stark deviation from his norm. 

“Have to keep a roof over my head somehow.  Or had the thought not crossed your mind?” she said with a sneer, and with no attempt at policing her tone.  He could see where this was going, the destruction she was looking to wield, he needed to get ahead of it.

“Look Bianca—”

“No, you look Varric.  It’s never been easy for me, for us, but if I’d known you would be such a...such a worthless, pathetic, coward then maybe I should have listened to my father,” she practically spat the words at him.  Varric grit his teeth together and tried to remind himself that there was nothing that she could say to him that he had not already thought of himself, that he not already been called by others he was supposed to hold more dear than her.  “He had it all set up you know, all I had to do was walk away and I could have had everything. But I gave it up, I gave up  _ everything _ for you Varric.”  He could feel his composure slipping, he wanted to scream.  She had given up everything for him? She had no idea what he had lost for her.  His friends, his family, his livelihood, his city all of it gone. She could not fathom the loss he had suffered at her hands.  There was an unmistakable scoff to his right and his stomach dropped. Shit.

“Oh I’m sorry, do you have something to say?”  Bianca rounded on Cassandra. 

“No, she doesn’t,” he said pointedly and gave Cassandra a look that he hoped conveyed to her to tread no further.  As flattering as it was he did not need her fighting his battles. Behind her Anthony was sitting in the boat, his head in his hand silently shaking it back and forth.  Varric pushed the thought of how this must look to him, of how this must be affecting Anthony’s already damaged opinion of him to the back of his mind, a worry for another time. 

“Then what about you?  Do you have nothing to say?  Where are your words now? Your stories?  Your lies?” Her voice rang clear in the silence he let hang between them.  He had never had such self-control as he did now to stay silent and still through all this.  It was not the first and he was sure not the last time in his life that he had suffered such a humiliation but he had always given as good as he got.  Better, usually. But he bit his tongue forcefully to stop himself from aggravating the situation uselessly and tasted the sharp tang of copper as the flesh gave way beneath his teeth.  It could not last forever was all he could tell himself. 

“He fancied himself a storyteller once you know.  Couldn’t keep the bottle out of his hand long enough to hold a quill though.  Just one more failure for the pile.” She spoke to the people around him, to Cassandra and Anthony and anyone else close enough to hear though she looked only at him with cruel mirth in her eyes.  She was enjoying this. If he wasn’t going to defend himself she was going to push, see how far she could take him before he snapped. That would be her victory, if she could not guilt him into coming back to her. 

Beside him Cassandra was clenching her jaw shut as tightly as he, he could just imagine the all too familiar sound of her teeth grinding together.  They had spent nearly the entirety of the last two years arguing with each other, at each other’s throats whenever possible. He had never thought about the prospect of her arguing with him, or  _ for  _ him.  In asking her to stay out of it he was missing a golden opportunity that he would likely never see again, but he didn’t want her to be pulled into this more than she already had.  

Cassandra had opened his eyes and his world to what his life could be without the bonds that tied him to Bianca.  She was not a replacement, he wasn’t swapping one woman for the other, she had been a catalyst. The emotion that coursed between them, that he was sure would sweep him away if he let it had awakened within him thoughts and feelings he had thought long passed.  Feelings and sensations that had been forgotten, lost deep within himself as they’d lain dormant. It was like discovering a new colour, or maybe more accurately rediscovering it. He’d been able to find himself again, and he had Cassandra to thank for that. 

But he didn’t want her to think that his feelings for her and his feelings for Bianca could be conflated.  One did not negate the other, they held separate and utterly different portions of his heart and he wanted it to stay that way.  He would always love Bianca that much was clear to him now, and he believed Cassandra knew that. But his love for Bianca was a love that had once flourished and thrived and had since diminished.  He was beholden to Bianca as his first love, but he was not so naive as to believe that she could be his only love, that she would hold reign over his heart for all eternity. What they had had was beautifully torrid in its own way, but it would not define him.  Not any longer. 

He could not say how long the silence stretched between them, his concept of time had been completely shattered the moment he’d recognized her on the beach.  But the work around them had ceased, all of the cargo gone from the longboats and the two factions, those from Kirkwall and those from the ship began separating on the shore.  They’d be leaving soon, he was sure that their “lovers spat” wouldn’t hold up anyone else's plans. Bianca wasn’t unaware of the time constraints that had been inadvertently placed on them and there was a moment of panic in her face.  Whatever had been her purpose she had to accomplish it now.

“Varric,” her tone lightened and her eyes were suddenly downcast as if afraid to look at him.  “Go if you must, but please promise me you’ll return.” The anger he had expected, the cruel words and the insults he deserved to an extent.  She was in pain and it was a natural response, a means of protection, absolving oneself from responsibility by denying that any fault lay with her.  But the words she had used, biting at him where she knew his weakness to be made it difficult for him to believe her sincerity behind her words and change in demeanour now.  Did she want him back because she loved him, or did she want him back because she could not stomach the thought of him leaving her? Not that her motivations mattered to him, he had made up his mind.  Cast his final ballot long before any of this had begun. He’d been tested most certainly but his decision had not changed even after being here, even after living what might have been. Even if they had been happy together, he knew now that he would not have traded anything for it.  The loss that it would have required was not worth it, was not worth them.

“Varric?” she spoke his name again in the same manner and there was a flash of guilt that erupted within him at the sound of her voice, the way she pleaded his name quietly.  For the situation if anything. If there was any truth to what Anthony believed he really was changing the lives of two people he had no right to. But he didn’t truly believe that, and as the guilt subsided Varric turned from Bianca and let his silence be his response, and the end of the matter.  

Facing the shoreline and the others he tried to hustle a hesitant looking Cassandra back onto the boat, Anthony got up just as swiftly to aid her along.  With a leg almost completely over the side himself Bianca spoke again, her voice now clear and strong almost devoid of any emotion.

“You were right.”  He paused, halfway in and out of boat and mentally braced himself against whatever was coming next.  “You were never enough, and I should never have married you.” 

The indifference in Bianca’s voice was meant to hurt him just as much as her words.  More than hurt him, degrade and debase him but she could not have been more off her mark.  He bowed his head not because there was a heaviness within him but to hide a smile that he could do nothing to stop.  She had only confirmed what he had already known. If there were any lingering regrets or doubts lurking within him they were well and truly satisfied now.  Varric pulled himself all of the way into the boat and did not turn around, would not concede to her last ditch efforts. 

A hand on his shoulder forced him down onto a bench and the boat heaved under him.  Men on either side of the boat pushed it until the sand released its weight and the motion of the sea took it.  They jumped into the boat with a practised ease, and they were off. 

Almost instantly he felt his shoulders relax as if a weight he had long since worn had been finally lifted only to be carried off by the waves around him.  He took a deep breath and relished in the way it seemed to fill him completely, unhindered and unburdened. Again, he breathed deeply until the beat of his heart calmed, coming in pace with the movement of the oars as they cut through the water.  The dark shape of the ship loomed in the distance and for the first time in his life he was happy to leave Kirkwall and all it stood for in his wake.

 

\---- 

 

Cassandra had lost count of how many laps she had done of the main deck.  She was feeling restless. There was nothing to do but wait upon this ship, and it was fraying what little of her nerves she had left.  They had barely been at sea half a day yet, and there was easily another two to go before they reached Jader assuming they made it there at all.  The Waking Sea was rough and merciless and far greater ships and crews had fallen to its unceasing appetites. Not to mention the threat of Chantry vessels or pirates or an unexpected storm.  

As if on cue a series of crushing waves pushed up against the hull of the ship stopping her in her tracks as she struggled to stay upright and focused on keeping the contents of her stomach exactly where they were supposed to be.  She had not quite found her sea legs though she was doing better than her brother. Unsurprisingly Varric seemed to be completely unaffected by it all but Anthony had barely stepped a foot onto the main ship before he was heaving over the side.  She had hoped some sea air, fresh and clean as opposed to the rankness that had settled in the hold where they were staying would have turned her spirits and her stomach back to sorts but it had done little if nothing to help. 

Everywhere she looked the sea was endless and bleak with no land in sight.  An expanse of nothingness so vast and unchanging she could not be sure they were moving at all.  It was doing nothing to lighten her mood as she already felt that she was in a sort of stasis. She could make no headway with Anthony as ill as he was and as loathe as she was to admit it she was scared to press Varric on what had happened on the beach.  

The things Bianca had said to him, about him, Maker how she had wanted to step in tell her how she was wrong.  Make her understand that Varric was no coward but one of the most courageous people she knew, even if much of that was due to a reluctance to even consider the outcomes of a situation.  Nor was he worthless or pathetic as she had called him. She had never seen Varric take criticism and insult so passively, without a word to his own defense. What was that to lead her to believe?  That he thought he had no defense? That he believed what she had said about him?

But what could she say to Varric to make him believe that all Bianca had said about him were lies, malicious untruths when they had traded similarly barbed insults themselves?  None so weighted of course, none tied with such history or malice but it still undermined her position all the same. Could she though let him think that he was not enough as Bianca had said?  She could not change anything else about her current situation but she could at least attempt to change that. Cassandra completed one last lap of the deck before descending into the bowels of the ship once again.  

The ceiling of the hold was low, crossed with thick heavy beams that required her to duck frequently or keep a steady hunched position.  She had not been on many ships, in fact she could count the journeys she had taken across the Waking Sea on one hand, but never before in quarters so tight and cramped.  At the very least she was thankful that they had not taken on any more cargo or they may not have fit at all.

In the farthest corner of the hold Anthony and Varric sat huddled around a porthole for light.  Anthony propped up against the ship’s side looking pale and sweaty a bucket at his side, Varric seated on a box across from him looking utterly at peace with his surroundings as ever.  As she drew closer she could see that Varric had managed to produce a deck of cards from somewhere and had somehow coerced Anthony into playing, though the cards hung limply in his hands. 

“And how did the sea air treat you Seeker?” Varric said without looking up from his own cards.

“Anyone who has ever said that the seaside does wonders for one’s health is a liar.”  She held the back of her hand to Anthony's forehead, his skin felt clammy beneath her touch.

“Something tells me that only applies to being on land.”

“Then why do not more people live along the Storm Coast?”

“Might be the dragon, just a thought.”  She scoffed and lowered herself to the ground next to Anthony.  “Hey cheer up Seeker I think I’ve finally found someone worse at cards than you.”

“He’s sick Varric leave him be.”

“What?  Afraid someone’s coming for your crown?”  She picked the cards out of Anthony’s hand and replaced it with a canteen of water.  Anthony gave a thin whine in protest.

“You should be resting, and you”—she looked at Varric—“should not be encouraging him.”  Varric shrugged in response. 

“It’s his turn.”  He looked at her expectantly and she played a card at random from the hand she had taken from Anthony before returning her attentions to him.  He managed a few small sips from the canteen before he was no longer able to hold it to his lips and passed it back to her. She stoppered it as he mumbled something incomprehensible and lowered himself to the floor, coming to rest with the bucket at his fingertips and his back to the hold.  Setting the canteen within his reach as well she picked the remaining cards off the ground and motioned Varric further into the hold and away from Anthony. 

“Was he ill while I was away?” she asked as they picked out a new stack of crates on which to sit. 

“Almost, but he managed to keep it down.  Whatever was left that is. I honestly did not know one person could produce that much vomit,” he said his voice tinged was a morbid sense of curiosity. 

“My first trip across the sea produced a similar effect, I could barely ride a horse in the week afterward without repeating the experience.  He will be fine as long as he retains some fluids, and  _ rests _ ,” she stressed.

“Okay, okay no more cards I promise.”  Varric conceded with raised hands. 

“I’m sure he appreciated the sentiment.”  She did not want him to think her altogether ungrateful for taking an interest in brother’s wellbeing.  “Here”—she passed her cards to him—“deal again and we will play.” She could use the distraction. Varric took his time shuffling the cards, eyeing her blatantly as he did. 

“Something’s bothering you,” he said it with such surety that once again she questioned whether or not he could read her thoughts.  She was not used to anyone reading her so plainly.

“How very astute Varric, could it be the fact that we are in a world not our own?  Or that we are currently on a ship full of people that would sooner murder us in our sleep than bat an eye?” she said sarcastically.

“Don’t be coy with me Seeker, that’s not all of it,” he pressed.  It would have been infuriating his insistence if she had not just resolved within herself to talk with him about the night before.  Maker take him and his keen sense of awareness.

“Fine,” she said stiffly.  “Last night, with Bianca?”

“What of it?”  He dropped his eyes from hers and started dealing out the cards.

“Now who’s being coy.”

“Look, it happened.  Would I have preferred that you hadn’t heard any of it?  Yes. But I’m over it so let that be the last of it,” his words were direct, his tone serious.  He had not been surprised by her asking then.

“Varric the things she said—”

“Were said out of anger and spite,” he said without letting her finish her thought.  “Even I can’t begrudge her that.”

“But they aren’t true you know that right?”  He gave a noncommittal shrug and she stopped his hands with hers, made him look at her again.  “It is important to me that you know they aren’t true,” she repeated herself in earnest. 

“Seeker, no one has a higher opinion of me than me.”  He cocked an eyebrow and hers furrowed. 

“I am serious Varric.”

“So am I and trust me you never need to worry about my ego,” he said with a short laugh, flippant and derisive to her ear. 

“And would you blame me if I did?”  Her voice rose, aggravated by his dismissal of her worries.  “The things I have said to you, called you...I will not say that they were  _ all _ unjustified but I have certainly let my temper get the better of me and for that I am sorry.  I would never want you to believe that I think ill of you, or that you warranted such viciousness without just cause.”  She watched him take in her words, knew that they had sunk in through his own contrived barriers when once again he could not look at her.  A brief moment of sobriety before he was back with a grin in place, removing his hands from hers and continuing with the cards.

“Don’t go soft on me now Seeker, it keeps me humble,” he said in his usual upbeat manner.  She gave him a look of tired exasperation in response and his grin slipped a fraction. “Don’t worry yourself alright?  You’ve never been anything but honest to me... _ painfully  _ so at times yes, but I would never have said your intentions were the same.  You’re not her Cassandra.” Is that what he thought had brought this on? Some conceited display of narcissism to dispel her own guilt?

“I do not say this for my own concern, do you think me so vain?”  She stood abruptly. The affront in her voice had not been intentional, though she had found the notion that this was all some ploy for her own sake to be offensive to the both of them.  “My...my ego as you might call it, is not of issue here Varric, it is yours that I fear for. That you might believe, even for an instant that what she said held a shred of truth. And had you given me the chance to stand for you last night when you would not yourself you would have known this.  I have treated you poorly, beyond poorly in the past but do not think that I have ever thought you less than the man who sits before me.” Varric stared at her his eyes wide and his mouth slightly ajar. A card fell from his hands and he made no move to catch it. “I am sorry for yelling,” she said hastily and sat back down, her back straight, her hands fumbling for a purpose in her lap.

“No, no the yelling...it’s good, I like it.”  She scoffed. “Yell all you like just so long as you say exactly that every time, and you’ll never need to worry about my ego ever again.”  She fought the urge to roll her eyes, it did seem quite counterproductive at the moment. 

“Must you mock me?” she said in tired exasperation.  “My concern was genuine, do not make me regret it.”

“No mocking, I promise,” he said with a tilt of his head and glint in his eye.  Varric got up and stood in front of her, trapping her against the crates so that she had nowhere to look but at him.

“This feels like mocking,” she said dryly.

“I didn’t defend myself because I didn’t see the point—and not because what she said was true, but because her opinion doesn’t mean anything to me anymore, in this world and ours.  And we’ve both said things to each other that may have been better left unsaid, but your honesty does you credit and I would never ask you to lie to me even for the sake of my vanity.  So thank you for the confidence boost, but I did mean it when I said it wasn’t necessary.” His voice held only a tinge of jest, but what more could she expect. She was glad to hear though, that his bravado was not a mask for something deeper and more sinister.  That what Bianca had said had not caused irreparable harm. 

Varric rested his forearm against the crate next to her head and leaned in closer to her.  Not as close as they had been in her bed, or on the mountainside but enough that it evoked a similar quickening of her breath, a heightened awareness of her body.  

“Now, I’m not saying you can  _ never _ say nice things about me.  But maybe just every once in awhile.  Only daily...or hourly—I know how easily you can get caught up in expounding my many,  _ many  _ virtues.”  He winked at her and this time she did roll her eyes.

“But where would I start if I am to limit myself?” she said innocently and looked up at him through lidded eyes, lightly placing her hand on his arm that still rested at his side.  “Your arms?” she queried while she moved her other hand to his chest and ran the edges of his tunic through her fingers before splaying them against the bare skin of his torso. “Or your chest hair?”  Varric glanced down at her hand and inhaled sharply through his nose. “No, surely that is all too obvious, you must tire hearing of it. Your voice then.” Her hand glided up his chest and curved around the base of his throat.  “Or your lips.” Varric dipped his head expectantly and her thumb ghosted the edge of his bottom lip. Emboldened by his response and with the memory of their conversation on the mountainside still fresh in her mind Cassandra leaned forward and parted her knees inviting Varric in, closer.  He filled the newly opened space readily and the firm muscle of his thighs burned hot against her own. 

“Or have I said too much already?”  Her voice faltered and her breath hitched as Varric’s free hand fell against her knee, his fingers fitting easily underneath it, raising it slightly up his leg.  “I…” She was at a loss for words her mind unable to focus on anything except the feel of Varric’s body slotted against hers, and the nearness of his lips to hers.  The ship lurched to the side unexpectedly but it only managed to force them even closer to one another in order to keep their balance. Varric’s grip on her leg tightened and she squeezed at his bicep in response.  

“The lips, stick with the lips for now,” his voice rumbled between them and she felt the movement of his speech beneath her hand.  With a hum of agreement she rose to meet his lips with her own.

There came an unmistakable retching noise that filled the entirety of the hold.  Cassandra’s mouth hovered just under Varric’s and the sound of Anthony being sick came again.  She pulled back from Varric and his head fell forward as he let out a singular weak sounding laugh that rocked his shoulders.  She could have laughed as well, with frustration and annoyance and disbelief that they had been interrupted yet again. Varric let go of her leg and stepped back from her, giving her space.  Her hands fell from his body gracelessly and she missed the heat of him instantly. She opened her mouth to say something to Varric, something to assure him that their time would come, but the sounds of Anthony being ill came again calling her to his side.

 

\---- 

 

Cassandra blinked awake into the night and sat up finding the hull of the ship at her back.  Her mouth was dry and tasted foul and there was a layer of sweat across her skin. She rolled her shoulders and felt the fabric of her tunic pull sluggishly from her back.  The air of the hold was hot and stagnant now with so many of the crew having come below deck to escape the icy chill of the night air as it swept across the water. A light flickered on the other side of the hold, beyond stacks of crates and barrels, and sacks of provisions.  A raucous chorus of laughter rose out of the silence around it and hastened her back into the waking world.

“Good evening...or very early morning—I have no idea what time of day it is, or  _ what _ day it is for that matter,” Anthony spoke from the darkness to her left.   

“You are speaking again, you must be feeling remarkably better.”  Cassandra stifled a yawn and groped in the dark for her canteen.

“A moment of lucidity that threatens to pass with every swell.”  She could hear his measured breathing, slow and steady. “Tell me we are close, lie to me if you must.”

“We are close,” she lied quickly, to give him some comfort.  They were little more than a day at sea, though even that was an estimate of course.  She could not be sure how long she had slept, but likely no more than a few hours if the crew had not yet turned in.

“And I will choose to believe that for my own sanity,” he said defeatedly. 

“Do you need anything?  Water, fresh air?”

“Nothing for the moment.  Varric was by while you slept, he saw to it.  There is some broth left if you’d like it, though it’s cold now.”  

“No thank you, I’ll be fine.  And Varric he is…?”

“Follow the laughter I would assume.  He is quite...adaptable, that man.” The pause in his speech did not go unnoticed, and she found that there was a part of her that was disturbed by the thought that Anthony may not like Varric.  As understandable as it was, it was not as if she had had such a favourable opinion of him when they’d first met, or for some time after. Though their introduction had been under less than ideal circumstances, Anthony did not have nearly the excuse.

“Yes, he is.  Infuriatingly so at times, though possibly to our advantage here should his mouth not get in the way.”

“Is there a great risk there?”

“Very,” she replied nearly instantly and just as soon regretted it.  If Anthony had a poor opinion of Varric she was doing nothing to abate it.  “I mean—that is...what Varric gets himself into he can surely get out of, he is resilient if anything.”  Maker she was glad he was not here to hear this. Defending his merit twice in one day, he would think her possessed.  

“Resilient?  Is that what you’d call it.”  She did not have to see him in the dark to know that he had raised his eyebrow as he spoke.

“Do not judge him so harshly Anthony, we are neither of us at our bests.”  She thought his silence the end of the matter until there was a muffled snort of laughter from him in the darkness.  “Out with it,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“You like him,” he said in an almost sing-song manner, ill-befitting of their advanced years.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she denied instinctively though she had no reason to hide it.  She did like Varric, deeply, passionately. She had for sometime, even before all of this had happened.  She had admitted this to herself and to Varric, there was no longer a need to deny it. “That is...I mean to say that I do not  _ like _ him Anthony, we are not children.  I care for him, more than I have for anyone in years and I do not want the two of you to be at odds.  His first impression can be... _ unfortunate _ , of that I can attest to.  But this world, it has done its best to conquer us both and I would ask that you take that into consideration.”

“Does my opinion of him matter that much to you?” he asked with a disturbingly genuine surprise. 

“Of course it does, what kind of question is that?”  

“Well…”  There was a pronounced sigh from her brother, an exaggerated response for the sake that they could barely make each other out in the darkness.  “If you insist dear sister, I guess I shall have to make more of an effort to know him,” he said with a grudging acceptance. 

“It is all I ask.”  A contented smile pulled at her lips.  Of course she needed no acceptance from Anthony of Varric, of what Varric and herself had together but that did not mean that she did not want it.  His acceptance, his approval, she had sought it many times over the years when he was not there to give it. 

“And you are sure?” Anthony still sounded unconvinced. 

“...Yes Anthony, I am sure.”

“It’s just...the way you speak to one ano—” 

“Yes, yes. I am  _ aware _ ,” she stressed.   And she was, aware of what it must look like to others the way they interacted, the way they had always interacted.  “But I  _ am _ sure.”  

“If you say so,” he muttered a touch too loudly to have been only meant for himself.

“Ugh.”  This would go on all night if she let it.  He had given her his answer, he had agreed to give Varric a passing chance, he was only playing with her now.  Because he could, because he had no other source of entertainment in this floating, wooden prison. She pulled herself off the floor, using the hull of the ship to steady her ascent.  “I am going to get some fresh air, you are welcome to come if you’d like.” She did not expect him to accept her invitation nor did she truly want him to, but she asked all the same.

A conveniently timed swell rocked the ship against its steady rhythm and she heard Anthony hiccup.  

“No, I...I believe I will stay where I am for the time being.”  She tried not to take a moment’s delight at the sudden strain in his voice, a petty childish sort of response because of his pestering. 

“Send for me should you change your mind,” she said over her shoulder as she moved away from him and headed towards the stairs that led above deck.  

As she grew closer to the other side of the hold the light she had seen swinging with the motion of the waves grew brighter and the voices grew louder.  Among them she could easily pick out the familiar dulcet tones of Varric’s voice and she found that she was not surprised in the least that he had managed to worm his way into the crew’s good graces.  If the laughter was anything to go by. He was useful in his ways, she would grant him that. With a hand kept above her head to feel for the low running beams she found her way to the stairs and ascended them to the main deck.

The moon was startlingly brilliant above her head, vast and wide looking near enough to touch.  Casting rays nearly as bright as the sun, it reflected off the inky waters that surrounded them and gave everything a wash of pale white light.  She could see her hand clearly in the night, just as clearly as the stark white sails above her that billowed and rustled with the frigid air that swept in from the Amaranthine.  The sweat that had clung to her skin below deck now chilled her and she regretted not bringing her cloak with her, underestimating the vast difference in temperature. But she had only come above for some fresh air, nothing more.  With only one turn around the deck she settled against the side of the ship content to take in the water below.

Anthony had seemed in better sorts, even when taking his seasickness into consideration.  Maybe whatever doubts or concerns that he still harboured had dissipated. She hoped that that was the case, that they could return to the semblance of normalcy they had had before visiting Merrill, before hearing what she had had to say about the wishing stone.  

A stiff wind coursed across the water below, pushing and pulling the white capped peaks of the waves, carrying fine mists of seawater up into the night air.  A layer of seaspray settled over her person and she could taste the salt on her lips, see the moisture collect on her eyelashes. There was an unmistakable freshness to the air quality, and the steady motion of the water, the repetitive chorus of the waves was almost soothing.  Maybe there was something to be said about living near the sea after all. Though it would not be a life for her, not any time soon at least. Not when rusting and corrosion and salt stains would be a daily concern to a warrior such as herself. But she could imagine it now, with only the rough spun linen of her tunic as a barrier against the elements.  A lifetime beyond, a distant future unlikely to ever exist. One where she could appreciate the power and strength of the waves, a power and strength that she would no longer possess. But futures were a luxury not many were granted, and fewer still for those in her line of work. Futures were for those that could withstand their presents and she had yet to overcome hers.  

“Andraste’s tits, it’s freezing up here.”  Cassandra jumped at the sound of Varric’s voice booming unexpectedly behind her.  She had not heard him come up from below her concentration lost to other thoughts.  “Aren’t you cold?” He gave a rare shiver and sidled up next to her, crossing his arms over the thick wooden railing and leaning over the side to look at the water below.

“Very,” she said and rubbed her hands across the goosebumps that had formed along her exposed skin.  “But I do not wish to turn in just yet.” 

“It’s getting a little cramped down there isn’t it?” he said, understanding her reluctance.  She hummed in agreement and cast her gaze back to the water, resting her arms on the railing of the ship next to Varric’s.  “How’s Slayer holding up?” 

She managed not to roll her eyes at the choice of nickname that Varric had evidently settled on for Anthony.  Slayer? As in dragon slayer? A little on the nose in her opinion. Then again from the man that had chosen ‘Seeker’ for her what had she really expected.  Besides, the absence of a nickname at this stage would have been far more telling. 

“He is faring better.  Thank you for looking after him, though you should not feel obligated to.”  Varric merely shrugged in response and a silence punctuated only by the soft crashes of the water below them and the occasional holler rising from below deck fell upon them.  

There was a strain in Varric’s posture though he was doing his best to hide it.  He had been laughing and cavorting not moments before, it made her wonder what had brought about the sudden change in his mood.  She would not press it, did not feel it her place yet, if ever. Instead she unclasped her hands and slid her arm across the railing til it made contact with Varric’s.  There was a quick flicker of his eyes down to where her arm now lay before he uncrossed his and took her hand. His hand was warm against hers, and the heat of his skin trailed up her arm banishing the deep chill that had settled within her. 

“There’s uh...there’s something I actually wanted to talk to you about.”  There was a marked lack of confidence in his voice that would have concerned her more had he already not seemed himself. 

“Of course,” she replied and angled herself towards him a little further, seeing him now in profile as he continued to stare out into the sea.  

“Well...first off I wanted to thank you, I’m not sure I did earlier.”

“Thank me, for what?”

“For what you said about me, and for thinking of me.”  He took a deep breath through his nose and she watched it expand in his chest, shift his broad shoulders.  “It’s…” He was struggling to get the words out, so very unlike him. “It’s nice to know that someone cares enough about me to do that, and well...even nicer that that someone is you.”  Cassandra opened her mouth to respond, but Varric jumped back in, finding his usual focus again. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about, though it does make this easier.” He shifted slightly, opening his stance to her yet still he kept his eyes downcast.

“I should have told you about Bianca.  I should have told you about Daisy and Hawke and everything else.  It’s not that I don’t trust you because I do, like frighteningly so, I just couldn’t…”

“I understand Varric.  This place, it is...beyond intimate.  There is no personal, no private. It has lain our lives, our selves bare.  Forcibly so. It has removed your agency and your choice in the matter.”

“I had a choice.”  He sounded angry with himself.  “I had a choice, and I did what I always do.  Look, I know honesty is your thing”—Cassandra ground her teeth together to keep her jaw shut, she had much to say on that matter but she didn’t want to interrupt him again—“but it’s not mine, and I’ve been burned by it before.  So I hesitated. And well, you saw how well that turned out.” 

“It has passed Varric.  I do not hold it against you and neither should you.”  She squeezed his hand in hers. “If there is something you want to tell me, do so.  I shall pass no judgement.” Varric looked at her skeptically. “I shall pass _ minimal _ judgement,” she corrected herself and the mood around them lightened slightly. 

“Okay, it’s not actually all that important now that I’ve built it up.  But seeing as you told me what happened to you I thought you should know.  I mean...I  _ want _ you to know.”  She felt a warmth in her chest at the sincerity of his voice.  In the understanding of the importance of this act, that Varric was opening up about himself to her for no other reason than he wanted to.  He took another deep breath.

“I never met Hawke—I mean  _ this world’s _ Varric never met Hawke, or Sunshine, or Aveline, or Daisy, or Broody, or Rivaini.”  The names fell off his lips one after the other and she could see the weight of it in him.  Each name, each person represented a loss, a change, a mistake. They were his family, they were his everything and all of them were gone, lost to him here.  “Got Blondie though, I mean, I’m assuming. But I knew him before any of the other stuff happened so… You know, I’d always thought that it was the worst thing I’d done—which is a bold statement I’m aware—bringing them together, introducing him to Hawke.  But I guess it didn’t matter. He still did it.” There was a contempt in his voice that she could not be certain who it was directed at, Anders or himself. The question must have played across her face for Varric looked at her and mistook her worry for confusion.

“Sorry, that was a lot of information.  Let me start over.”

Varric relaxed back into himself and explained all that had happened to him here, all that had changed, more slowly and in more detail.  He began with the Deep Roads and continued on from there. He did not shy away from the more painful aspects of this new life, the absence of his writing, the loss of his family, the drinking.  It did not matter that they knew this world to be false. All that had happened, what he knew to be true and what was merely conjecture had affected him greatly as it had her. Because it was a life that could have been and he was facing truths about himself that he would no longer be able to shy away from.  Answers he never expected to have for questions he had wondered about his entire life.

When he had finally expounded upon everything his shoulders slumped down and he leaned heavily against the side of the ship for support, his back to the water.  He looked exhausted. Varric reached out to her, silently but unabashedly seeking her support. At some point during his retelling his hand had slipped from hers to be used in wild gesticulation, his normal type of physical punctuation.  Cassandra took his hand again eagerly and mimicked his positioning against the rail. 

“That’s it, that’s everything,” he said, sounding just as drained as he looked. “Minimal judgement?”  There was a smirk on his face as he asked but she could see the burning question in his eyes. He was looking for a confirmation of sorts, proof that he had not just gone against his very nature only to have the same results as he had gotten in the past. 

“Minimal judgement,” she confirmed, while squeezing his hand in hers.  “Thank you Varric for telling me, for trusting me.” He nudged her shoulder with his in return.

Silence descended on them once again but she could no longer hear the raucous calls from the men below deck.  It had been late night already when she had come above seeking fresh air, it would soon be early morning if they stayed out here any longer.  Their conversation had kept her wits about her but she could feel the soft drag of exhaustion creeping in on her as well. 

“Shit, I forgot something,” cried Varric as he jolted up again at her side.  “Meredith is Right Hand.”

“What?” she said slowly, in disbelief.  A touch of a growl in her voice at a sudden sense of protectiveness over her once held position. 

“I know right, it’s like putting Buttercup in charge of well...anything really,” he said with a similar incredulity. 

“Who?”  She said through the back of her hand as she covered a yawn.  Varric looked at her oddly, with his head cocked to the side before shaking it slowly.

“Alright Seeker, off to bed with you.”  

  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

The docks of Jader were bustling with people.  Sailors, merchants, travellers old and young, what one would have expected to see at a port city.  Which was a relief to Varric. He’d had a growing concern that the state of Kirkwall was not an anomaly but the norm in this world.  Yet the part of him that was glad to know it wasn’t was dampened by the knowledge of the sorry fate that Kirkwall had evidently fared.  Kirkwall was as much a part of him as Hawke, or his chest hair, when it was ailing so was he. There was still a tinge of regret within him that he had left it behind, and eagerly at that.  But what was one more guilty thought at this point? Their arrival in Orlais had come quicker than he’d expected, on the back of favourable winds and a compliant sea. But they still faced the greater portion of their journey ahead of them.  The day had only just begun in the city, but if all went well they wouldn’t be there to see night fall. 

Varric watched from the dock as Cassandra descended the gangplank and tried not to laugh as Anthony slapped away her hand as she offered it to him in support.  She rolled her eyes in response and left him to his own devices. Her brother was looking better, but the colour had not yet returned to his face and in the three days of their journey across the Waking Sea he hadn’t managed to keep down any solid food.  There was a hunger in his eyes now though as he focused intently on the rough and sturdy planks of the dock. Dry land. 

As much as he was posturing now Varric didn’t doubt that their journeying would be slow until Anthony had recovered.  It wasn’t as if they had any real timeframe with nothing but Merrill’s story to go off of. But even he was growing antsy and the worry, the risk of delay was beginning to eat at him.  They had been in this world for over a week now, what did that mean for their bodies? What would happen if they waited too long? Was time even the same here as it was in their world? Varric closed his eyes and tried to squash the thoughts that were mounting within him.  They were coming more frequently and with more urgency but he was trying not to show it, not let his concern leak out. He didn’t want it to spread to the others, all three of them were dealing with their own issues and none of them needed more to contend with than they were already.  Besides it wasn’t as if bringing any of it up would change anything, and he certainly wouldn’t be telling Cassandra anything that she didn’t already know. 

But there was something else niggling at the back of his brain, something potentially worse.  Something maybe world alteringly worse. Cassandra seemed...off. Not too noticeably, hardly noticeably at all actually.  So much so that it could have just been his mind playing tricks on him. Looking for the worst when it was so easy to see elsewhere.  But if it was true, if he wasn’t just imagining things, then she was forgetting. So far it had just been the occasional slip up, like a momentary lapse.  Things that could have easily been attributed to exhaustion or stress and she always remembered again later. Names, places, things that, and this is what concerned him the most, things that  _ his  _ Cassandra knew, but  _ this world’s _ Cassandra wouldn’t.  He hadn’t brought it up yet, for all the same reasons he wasn’t about to mention his concerns about how much time they may or may not have.  But he also didn’t want to scare her, make her doubt herself. He needed undeniable proof first, and even then it was a conversation he didn’t know how to approach.  

Cassandra continued to watch protectively as Anthony hobbled his way onto the dock as well, and the urgency of their situation returned to Varric.  Pulsing, vibrating through him til it made his fingers twitch. If there was something happening to Cassandra would it only get worse the longer they were here?  Just how much time did they have?

When they were finally all three of them together, the crew departed swiftly.  Leaving them alone, shadowed by the ship smoothly rocking in the waves behind them.  They knew what their plans were, they’d talked through them aboard the ship. They’d certainly had the time and not much else to entertain them.  Even he could only take so many games of cards, and Cassandra had refused to play anymore after her crushing defeats at his hand had continued to mount.  They would be travelling to the Dales to find the temple. Skirting the Frostbacks where they could to make it easier. Until it was necessary to travel into them that was, but that would hopefully not be until the last leg of their journey.  Horses would have been quicker, especially seeing as they had already decided on trying to avoid the rocky terrain of the mountains but Anthony had reeled at the thought of it, even more constant motion, and Cassandra had acquiesced. Normally he wouldn’t have minded, with his own personal aversion to the beasts.  But now, with the potential of disaster lurking in the distance he regretted not taking a stronger stand at the time. Little that it would have done when Anthony’s health had been the deciding factor and Cassandra the one to make the final call. 

By foot their journey would take almost a fortnight assuming they could find the temple again coming from the opposite direction.  Assuming they didn’t run into any trouble along the way. Assuming no one got hurt, or became worse than they already were. It was a lot of assumptions but even he could concede to the need for some kind of plan.  Just a little bit of foresight. 

Cassandra eyed his fidgeting and he stilled his hands abruptly.  “Shall we?” he said, as much to distract her from his nervousness as to urge things along.  With first a look to Anthony, Cassandra nodded and took a confident stride down the dock and into the city. 

 

\---- 

 

The days were long and monotonous as they made their journey to the Dales.  They rose with the sun, or well before it and walked until the skies turned red.  Now that they had come upon the farthest reaches of the mountains at nightfall they used them for shelter against the elements, or worse.  There was no mistaking that the number of bandits, cutthroats and thieves was drastically beyond what Cassandra had expected. Nothing they couldn’t handle but that did not lessen the concern.  They were bolder as well, waiting clearly in broad daylight for anyone that might cross their paths. So far they had proved to be of little consequence, but she had learned long ago to never underestimate a fight no matter who your foe.  A lesson she was thankful for the first time they had been set upon.

Varric without his crossbow and armed with only daggers had put him directly in the fray, not a position that either of them were comfortable with.  She was used to him covering from afar, shooting quips alongside his bolts into the fight. Having him at her side, flitting across her field of vision was more distracting than it should have been.  It had muddled her usually clear head, clouded it when she needed to be focused. Concern for one’s comrades in the heat of battle was unavoidable and necessary to an extent but she had always found that the best way to protect others was not to let emotions get in the way.  Fighting was instinct, years of training so that your body reacted before your mind even had the chance to. Emotion was hesitation, was thought when there could be none, when there was no time for it. One misstep, an ill timed swing, a misjudged parry could spell your death, or worse, the death of another.  But having Varric so close in battle had put a quickening in her heart and questions in her mind. What would happen if they were injured here? What would happen if they died?

But Varric had not been the only wild card in that fight.  Anthony had proven another difficulty, though rightfully the fault laid with her.  He’d pushed through the weakness that had still plagued him. Shown himself to be a formidable fighter, skilled and confident with his longsword.  But there was an expectation in his maneuvers, strikes that left wide openings upon himself, blows that created advantages that he did not take, like he was waiting for something.  Waiting for her, she came to understand. Just as she had been disrupted by Varric, and had needed to adjust to his new fighting style Anthony’s own had been disturbed as well. To him they had fought side by side for over two decades.  Held a unit more closely coordinated than any she had ever fought with. He relied on her. On someone she could not be.

She had tried to talk to him about it, offered to him the opportunity to practice with each other but he had brushed it off.  Insisted that it was unnecessary, that is was not as if they had never fought separately before. Since then they had all begun to adapt but she knew, she understood how difficult it was to betray instinct.  When blood was rushing, when adrenaline coursed through oneself and propelled your actions. There were still aborted swings, looks searching for confirmation before a move was made. Second guessing that was potentially hazardous.  Second guessing that brought about a look in his eyes like that she had seen in his room at the Hanged Man. That let her know that whatever it was that had lay within him then lingered still.

But those moments were fleeting and altogether his manner had returned to that which she had known before Merrill, before Kirkwall.  He even seemed to be getting along with Varric better, much to her relief. They conversed easily enough and had much to talk about comparing the two worlds that they knew.  Deftly coming to but never quite broaching the reason for their mission. Avoiding it with care, like a patch of brambles or a hornet’s nest. 

When all else failed their conversation often turned to her, much to her displeasure.  Picking apart the differences in her past, the changes in her personality. Anthony had considered it a personal victory that in her world she had cut her hair, something that had irritated him for years.  And Varric had yet to stop bringing up the fact that she apparently did not read romance novels in this world. Attributing her devotion to the genre to his own personal influence. She had decided it best not to tell either of them that she had found a copy of  _ The Randy Dowager Quarterly _ in her pack her first night.  

It was painful sometimes to listen to them, to know what her life could have been.  But it was helping her come to terms with her past, the choices she had made and where they had led her.  The Maker had yet to lead her astray and she was surer now that she would come through this stronger. 

Clouds covered the sky, and they had not seen the sun since it was at its zenith.  It didn’t look or feel like rain but if the coverage did not dissipate they would be camping for the night sooner than expected.  An inevitability that they could not control or account for but she knew that the added delay would irk Varric. He was concerned about the progress they were making.  Though he had not said anything to the matter it was obvious in his actions. He was often the first to rise and always the one to push further each night. He fidgeted and paced when they broke for camp or took breaks, or meandered off their route.  Not stopping until he caught himself in the unconscious action, or until he noticed her staring, questioningly. She found it unnerving to see him stressed but it bothered her more that he felt he had to cover it up. Ultimately though, she trusted that he would say something if it was truly important, surely they had come that far at least. 

A gust of wind blew up from behind her, twisting in her hair and carrying the voices of Anthony and Varric with it. 

“Twenty?” came Varric’s voice  “Twenty-one?” 

“Higher,” replied Anthony in an amused tone. 

“It can’t be higher than twenty-five.”  The skepticism in Varric’s tone was palpable.

“Higher,” Anthony repeated and Varric growled in frustration.  “Do you just want me to tell you?” There was an extended silence before she could just make out a lowly muttered ‘fine’ between them.  “Forty-seven.”

“Bullshit!” cried Varric.  “You have  _ not _ killed forty-seven dragons.  There aren’t even forty-seven dragons to be killed.”

“I have been doing this for nearly thirty years.”

“Yeah but, forty-seven...and you’re not counting dragonlings?”

“Really Varric, you wound me.”  

Cassandra laughed to herself and the conversation died down behind her, the winds shifting and pulling their voices with it.  As she crested a hill ahead of the others she could see down into the valley below. Deep clouds of grey and black covered the horizon, confirming to her that they would be stopping early this evening.  She waited for Anthony and Varric to catch up to her, and for Varric’s mood to plummet.

 

\----

 

They’d camped early.  He had argued against it but even he couldn’t fight nature and though whatever storm had caused the skies to churn was thankfully passing them by they were still subject to its residual effects.  They had found a copse of trees near the base of the Frostbacks elevated enough to give them a clear view of the valley they had crossed over, and secluded enough to break the heavy winds that had followed the cloud cover.  It was as good enough a spot as any to spend the night and it had the added bonus of a nearby stream, runoff from the mountains. Enough to supply them with fresh water and a chance to get clean even if it was bound to be ice cold.

As Cassandra and Anthony finished setting up the tent Varric began building a fire.  The wood he had found was dry and brittle, remnants of a particularly cold autumn. It would burn easily enough but it wouldn’t last and he had had to search farther than his normal radius to gather enough for the whole night.  Busy work, but he’d been happy to have something to occupy his hands and his thoughts. He had been letting his anxiety get the better of him lately. It was getting too obvious and the others were beginning to notice. He was still no closer to having any definitive proof about Cassandra’s mental state and was beginning to wonder if he had in fact imagined it all.  Regardless, he knew that if he kept acting strange, sooner or later she would call him on it. 

The flint was cool in his hands as he struck it against the pile of logs and brush he had gathered together.  It took quickly and he barely had to fan the flames before it caught altogether creating a decently sized blaze.  Varric stood back admiring his work before grabbing the attention of the others.

“Just gonna—”  He jabbed his thumb behind him in the direction of the stream and received a nod from Cassandra and a brief grunt in response from Anthony who was precariously balancing a system of ropes and ground stakes.  Varric grabbed his pack and headed to the stream.

 

\---- 

 

Fresh water was never a given and after years of travelling he’d learned to take what he could get.  But as a wind as equally bone chilling as the water he’d been in whipped through the trees, drawing itself to the thin layer of moisture that still clung to his skin he wondered if a few more days of dirt and grime may not have been worth it.  Varric pulled his tunic closer around him trying to block out some of the wind but only succeeded in trapping the errant rivulets of water that had collected on the ends of his hair against the skin of his back. He shivered and tried to arch away from the fabric but it stuck to his skin.  Sweeping the hair out of his shirt he squeezed what water he could out and tied it back in his usual manner before readjusted his tunic yet again. It hung open and loose around him, a paltry cover against the winds but he still had to redress his not yet healed wound and that at least could be done back at camp where a warm fire waited. 

With his pack slung casually over his shoulder he made his way back through the trees and towards the sound of low voices.  The tent welcomed him back into the campsite, tall and sturdy with all the same precision as any Inquisition structure despite its humble beginnings.  Beyond it Cassandra and Anthony were sat on makeshift seats, logs round the fire. Something was cooking over it and Varric’s stomach growled loudly at the sight of it.  Two heads turned towards him at the sudden noise and both Cassandra and Anthony were nearly out of their seats, weapons at the ready before they realized it was him. Cassandra sat back down just as quickly but Anthony paused in a crouch before standing fully and moving away from the fire and towards his pack at the base of the tent. 

“Refreshing?” Anthony asked as he gathered his things.

“Sure, if you want to feel the existence of every joint in your body all at once,” replied Varric.  Anthony gave him a questioning look. “It’s bloody freezing is what it is,” he clarified. Anthony grimaced slightly but headed past him towards the stream all the same.

“If he’s not back in an hour we should probably check to make sure he hasn’t turned into a block of ice,” Varric said only half jokingly as he watched Anthony trail off through the trees before joining Cassandra at the fire, dumping his own pack unceremoniously at his feet.  The smell of whatever was bubbling away in the heavy iron pot was thicker here closer to it. A comforting scent of root vegetables and some game meat that was already causing the saliva to build in his mouth. Fancier than what he was used to when on the road but as dragon hunters the siblings spent their lives moving from place to place and apparently some conveniences were to be accounted for.  

He let the heat of the fire soak back into his fingers and joints before rummaging through his pack and pulling out some clean bandages.  A roll of rough white linen that he’d managed to pilfer from the Hanged Man, a place nearly as well stocked as any healers. A necessity with the crowd it kept.  Not well stocked enough though, as a healing potion would have cleared the thin but deep cut up completely. It was too late now, he’d have to heal the old fashioned way.  Or at least just put up with it for a little while longer he assumed. He’d been sure to bathe it well at the stream, biting at his cheek to keep silent with every pass of water across the raw flesh.  It was still tender but the redness at the edges had dissipated and it only really bothered him when he forgot about it and moved without care. 

Turning towards the light of the fire he shucked the side of his tunic and unwound the cloth in his hands, creating a stark white banner in front of him against a field of red in the flames of the campfire.  There was a sharp intake of breath to his left. 

“What happened?”  The concern in Cassandra’s voice was so evident it took him aback.  Normally she handled injuries with a cold, nearly irreverent matter of factness.  It wasn’t that she didn’t care, but they were an inevitability and heightened emotions just got in the way.  So she said. But as quickly as the words had left her mouth, her hands were hovering over his exposed side. “Who did this?  When did this happen?” Questions shot rapid fire from her mouth and her eyes began roving over him for any other sign of injury. 

“Whoa there Seeker”—he pulled back slightly the hand holding the bandages coming up between them—“it’s nothing,” he assured her and her expression changed rapidly from worried to annoyed. 

“Explain Varric.”  His name cut off sharply in her mouth with a recognizable severity that let him know that he had little choice in whether or not to tell her.  Not that he had been actively hiding his injury from her, it just hadn’t come up. He lowered his hand, crumpling the linen against his leg and relaxed back in towards her.  Seeing that he wasn’t about to put up a fight about it Cassandra visibly relaxed as well.

“I got jumped, the first night in Kirkwall,” he explained and her eyes went wide, the tenseness creeping back into her frame.  “Really, it’s nothing,” he tried to reassure her. There was a moment of stillness where she blatantly stared at his wound, her jaw clenched shut tightly and he tried in vain to read her.  Was she angry that he hadn’t told her? Annoyed at his carelessness? Frustrated with his unwillingness to take things seriously? All distinct possibilities. Slowly her head bobbed as if accepting his explanation, or resigning herself to some internal debate.

“Do be more careful next time,” she said with a tone that he could tell was supposed to echo her normal disaffected manner but came up hollow.  Confirming to him that something else was at play here. Cassandra reached out to stir the pot over the fire and he laid a hand on her arm bringing her attention back to him. 

“What’s really bothering you?” he asked frankly.  She looked at him with a startled expression and he wondered if she would deny it.  “Not that an attempt on my life wouldn’t send a normal person into a frenzy of course,” he added just to rile her up, ease her back into something more familiar.

“I”—she shook her head ashamedly—“I was not sure that we could be hurt until now, and...what does that mean?  For our bodies that is.” When he’d been stabbed he’d had no reason to think that his injury was anything but real, but now he was not so sure.  Who could say what effect it had had on his true self. 

“I hadn’t really—”

“What happens if we die here?”  She continued on, cutting him off though he wasn’t sure she had heard him speak at all.  Her eyes were unfocused staring beyond the campfire and into the woods, her concentration trapped somewhere within her.  

“Hey,” he said softly, calling her back to him again.  He waited until her focus returned and the glaze had left her eyes before speaking.  “I don’t know what would happen, but I also don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.  Or the day after that, or the day after that. You’re not going to get an answer for all of your questions and I don’t think you’re helping yourself by worrying about it.”

“Someone needs to Varric.”

“Do they though?  If dying here means death in our world does that change our plan?  Does that make us any more cautious than we already are.” He watched as her eyes flickered down to the wound on his side.  “Sorry, you. Does that make  _ you _ any more cautious than you already are?”

“That is my point exactly Varric, I”—her shoulders slumped and her head bowed down until he could no longer see her face—“I cannot lose you as well.”  A chill ran over him as if he had stepped back into the icy waters of the stream and he felt his heart seize in his chest. He didn’t think he would ever get used to seeing Cassandra vulnerable.  It pulled at him, like fingers behind his ribcage a draw he couldn’t ignore, to do something, do anything to help her, to aid her, to protect her. 

“You won’t, I promise,” he said with none of his usual idleness, the grip on his chest never ceasing.  She scoffed and raised her head to look at him.

“You cannot promise that Varric,” she said dryly. 

“Well I’m pretty sure I just did,” he replied with a shrug that caused the faintest glimmer of a smile on her lips.  

Cassandra turned towards him and swung her leg over the log, stradling it.  “Here,” she said and extended her hand palm first towards the bandages bunched in his fist.  He handed them to her and let his fingers trace down her wrist and across the underside of her hand before letting them go.  She pushed the well worn fabric of his tunic further to the side and began wrapping the bandages around him.

Her face hovered just beside his own as her reach extend behind his back, passing the bandages from one hand to the other to complete the loop around his stomach again and again.  This was not the first time that either of them had patched each other up but she had never allowed such closeness before, such intimacy. The glancing of fingertips, the heat of her breath on his shoulder, on his neck.  She passed the bandage around him once more, her hair trailing across the bare skin of his arm as she shifted her attention to securing the wrapping. Sat so close to him he would have barely had to move to take her in his arms.  They were alone for once, and they could have both used the comfort but he could feel the lingering presence of Anthony not far in the distance. He didn’t want to risk it, being interrupted again. He wanted time. Time enough to savour the feel of her beneath his hands, the taste of her on his lips.

Cassandra tested the tautness of her binding then slowly almost reticently removed herself from his personal space.  Turning her exacting attentions from him to the food.

“Thanks,” he stuttered out, and cursed himself silently as he felt the moment slip away. 

 

\---- 

 

The fire crackled, popping occasionally when the heat would wend its way into the logs and discover hidden pockets of sap or water.  It cast a wide orange glow that stung Cassandra’s eyes to look at it for too long. They were not so far into the Frostbacks that the nights dipped to an uncomfortable temperature but the warmth of the fire was welcome enough and had began to lull her into sleep on the back of a heavy meal.  Anthony had already gone to bed and would not rise again until late into the night for the last watch but Varric was still up fighting the strong pull of exhaustion for the first. She should have been sleeping, conserving her energy for her own but for the second time that day she had found herself alone with Varric and she was loathe to leave his side early as much as she would regret it come morning. 

Varric was sat on the ground next to her, his back resting against the same downed log that she was sitting on.  His eyes were closed and his hands clasped together over his stomach, a picture perfect display of calmness. It was the strangest feeling but she felt pacified by his presence.  There was a sense of peacefulness that came just by being near him. It seemed impossible to think of, that the man that could raise her hackles and fists faster than any other she knew could somehow make her feel safe.  Make the thoughts that chewed at the back of her mind settle for a moments peace. 

His hair was still damp and clung slickly to his scalp, his own fault for tying it up before waiting for it to dry completely.  She could have done the same. Braiding her own freshly washed hair knowing that even by morning there would still be warm damp patches at the base of her neck and within the deep folds of the braid.  But there was a still a novelty, a sense of nostalgia to her long hair and instead she chose to suffer the long process of drying it by the uneven heat of the fire. With a wooden comb found carefully wrapped in her pack she worked out the knots and tangles from her hair, easing the delicate tines downwards in a satisfying motion that felt both frivolous and luxurious.  She took her time with it, and only stopped to return the comb to her pack when just the ends of her hair remained wet though her hair had been smooth for some time. 

As she leaned down over her pack, making sure to place the comb back with the same care in which she had found it, a feeling of unease settled in her shoulders as if she was being watched.  Hesitantly, she looked up and instantly matched gazes with Varric, who had not moved from his relaxed position but was now staring at her with an amused smile upon his face. How long had he been watching her?  Cassandra felt colour come to her cheeks. She had done nothing for which to feel embarrassed or ashamed about yet still it felt as though he had intruded on something personal, almost intimate in nature. He leaned forward towards her and her hands tightened against the rough fabric of her pack.

Confidently, Varric raised his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  Cassandra’s eyes closed slightly as she felt his fingers brush against the skin of her neck and card gently through her hair.  The heat from the fire becoming almost unbearable as she felt her skin come alive under his touch. His fingers left her hair and she barely had time to miss their touch before they were trailing across her jawline, coming to rest at her chin.  Following the length of his arm with her eyes she sought his gaze again and found him looking at her quizzically, one eye closed and is head cocked to the side. 

“Your scar is gone,” he said casually and dropped his hand from her face back to its earlier position on his stomach.  Cassandra felt the loss of it immediately as she sat back up, unconsciously tracing its path against her skin with her own hand as she angled her body closer to Varric’s seated form. 

“A rogue Templar,” she said lowly, aware of how clearly their voices rang in the still night.  “In Kirkwall, not long after we met. When I was far too trusting.” He rolled his eyes. “When I thought that words could still yet sway them...a childish mistake,” her tone darkened and Varric turned to face her more fully, sitting up a little straighter.

“Well you never were an ask questions first kind of person,” he said with a lopping grin and it was her turn to roll her eyes. 

The warm glow of the fire suited Varric.  Bathing him in a liquid honey that accentuated the gold in his hair, and the tan of his skin.  But turned as he was to face her it had cast long shadows across the rough plains of his face, nearly masking one side entirely.  Cassandra reached out as he had to her and cupped his chin, tilting his head so that she could see it fully.

“Your nose, it is still broken,” she said, her eyes tracing his profile against the night sky.

“Oh that?”  He touched it self consciously.  “No, that happened when I was a kid.”  Her eyes found his with a look of concern.  “Nothing serious, nothing I didn’t deserve at least...Bartrand,” he added when she had not looked away, unsatisfied with his explanation.  A scowl pulled at her lips. The relationship that Varric had with his brother was almost incomprehensible to her as she was sure that her’s with Anthony was to him.  “I kinda like it,” he said, touching the bridge of his nose again. 

“It does suit you, yes,” she agreed, a smile returning to her face.  He looked at her out of the corner of his eye a smugness in his features before turning to face her again, pulling her hand from his chin with his own and holding it between them.  Instinctively she leaned in closer towards him as he pulled nearer to her. This close she could pick out the flecks of amber in his eyes that sparked in the firelight, could smell the earthiness of his skin fresh from the stream.  Her eyes flickered down to his mouth and back up again. When they returned to his there was a look on his face that she recognized from earlier that evening when she had bandaged his side. But there was an urgency to it now that made her stomach grip with a sudden excitement.  Cassandra breathed through her nose and felt her chest rise, holding her breath there in anticipation as Varric leaned up towards her. He paused and hovered just below her, gripping her hand more firmly. She could feel his hesitation and a near silent laugh rolled from her lips.  

“He is asleep Varric,” she whispered against his lips.

“Just making sure okay, every—”  She silenced him with a kiss, refusing to let this moment be taken from them yet again.

There were no interruptions and Varric’s other hand rose to hold her face as he kissed her more firmly, more confidently.  His thumb brushing across her cheek where her scar should have been. His lips were soft against hers, the rasp of his stubble a pleasant contrast against her skin and the grip in her stomach spread through her, alighting her senses.  Fluidly, without breaking the kiss she slid from the log, sinking onto her knees to reduce the height difference. Without warning Varric let go of her hand and wrapped his around her side pulling her down even further, dipping her until she was nearly laying in his lap, his arm supporting her from behind.  Cassandra gasped against his lips at the unexpected shift and blinked in surprise at the image of Varric’s face now above hers, once again bathed in the warm glow of the fire. 

“Varric.”  His name spilled from her lips unbidden as her chest heaved with shallow breaths and he captured her mouth again.  Her hand fumbled in the air before it found its way to the side of his face and slowly he pulled back from her. 

“I’ve been waiting a long time to do that Seeker.”  His breath sounded just as shaky as hers, and even in the orange light she could see the flush that had crept up his face.  She must have looked the same though she could not distinguish between the heat of her skin and that from the fire anymore.

“It was worth the wait.”  The words left her mouth and were gone from thought just as quickly, a headiness encompassing her mind.  Cassandra moved to sit up and a look of panic flashed across Varric’s face.

“Hey now, there’s more where that came from,” he whispered in earnest and tightened his hold around her.  She gave him a reassuring smile and shifted until she was sitting more comfortably in his lap. Their legs entangled, the fire at her back, height once again on her side. 

“I am glad to hear it,” she said lowly, and kissed him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late upload, yesterday was a holiday/I'm on vacation and I legit forgot that today was Tuesday...


	12. Chapter 12

Whatever storm had hovered on the horizon the day before was gone now.  The sun shone brilliantly overhead, and basked the rolling hills with a welcome warmth.  For the first time in days Cassandra felt optimistic about what lay ahead of them. Though it had little to do with the pleasant weather and everything to do with waking up in the safe embrace of Varric’s arms.  For once he had not pushed to leave as soon as possible, content to stay with her in the dim early light continuing what they had begun at the fire the night before. Just thinking about it threatened to bring a flush to her cheeks and put an ache deep within her.

Anthony had already commented on how unusually tired she seemed this morning, her lack of sleep from going to bed late evidently apparent.  He’d even offered to switch watch shifts with her as well, giving her the far more appealing uninterrupted night’s sleep and taking her broken shifts.  But she relished waking with Varric in the morning, and a touch less sleep was worth the exceedingly exceptional way to start the day in her opinion. Not that she had told any of that to Anthony of course, instead assuring him that it seemed far worse than it actually was.  Still, she made sure to turn from him should she feel the urge to yawn after that.

Varric was doing nothing to hide his own good mood, happily chattering away with no real care as to if anyone was listening.  Looking at her with a knowing grin, and taking every opportunity he could, and then some, to touch her or whisper in her ear. He was just as quick and sly with his hands as he was with his words and she was never quite sure what to expect.  Without warning an innocent guiding hand on the small of her back could stray downwards. It was brazen and bold and it made her feel far younger than her forty years. He no longer seemed to care if they strayed from their course for the day, eagerly pointing out every suitable spot for a moment’s rest.  Now that a break also meant a chance to secret themselves away from Anthony’s seemingly omnipresent view. An opportunity to act like rebellious teenagers, or young lovers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Their path wound through a long stretch of woods, the trees getting thicker and thicker around them as they travelled further into the dense forest.  If they’d read their map correctly they’d come out into the bottom of a valley soon, and from there have to make the decision on which path to follow next.  If they continued through the Dales their route would be clearer but longer, slightly more than a week spent cutting through forests and fields. But if they chose to travel through the lower edges of the mountains they could come upon the ruins in less than a week, barring any unforeseen issues.  Mountains passes were often subject to the whims of unpredictable and immovable terrain. But she knew what she preferred and until this morning had been expecting an argument from Varric on the matter. She wanted to take the route through the Dales, as what were a few more days? The end of their journey was near as was her time with Anthony and any delay meant a few more hours spent in his presence.  It was enough to calm the guilt that still churned within her for just a little while longer. She could not yet bring herself to think of how she would feel at the end of this. How she would react to having to say goodbye to Anthony again. A few more hours, a few more days would not make it any harder than it already was.

Ahead of them the path opened up into a small clearing that bulged against the surrounding forest.  As they drew closer she could tell that it had once been a well used campsite. The ground still showed bare patches, worn from use of tents or bedrolls.  A ring of charred ground where a fire had once blazed sat closer to the road, as far away from the trees as possible. Varric veered from the path, picking at the ground with his feet before stopping to stand with his hands on his hips taking in the space.

“Looks like a good place for a break,” he said with a shrug that shifted his pack off his shoulder.

“Another?” said Anthony incredulously, while slowly and deliberately continuing to walk further down the path.  Behind his back Varric looked at her pointedly, raising his eyebrows and motioning his head towards the trees. She hadn’t needed the prompting from Varric, his intentions all too clear to her.  

“A fine idea Varric,” she added in support of him, slowly easing her own pack of her back.  “I do believe the efforts of day are catching up to me.”

“Truly?” questioned Anthony turning back to them.  “We just had one not—” She forced a yawn for added effect and Anthony trailed off, a slight look of confusion marring his face.  “Well, I mean...if that’s what you’d like.” She kept her face passive even as an excited energy began to build within her. Her foot tapped against the ground as Varric began edging away from the both of them, and into the woods.

“I think I can hear some running water,” said Varric as he made an exaggerated show of turning his head towards the trees.  “I’m gonna go fill my canteen.” The words were barely out of his mouth and he was off.

“I’ll join you,”  she added and moved to follow after Varric’s retreating form.  Anthony moved towards him as well and her stomach lurched. “No!” she called out far too forcefully, stopping him in his tracks.  “I’ll take yours,” she said with an uncharacteristic sweetness, an overcompensation for her abruptness. “You sit.” She gestured towards a cluster of large rocks.  Anthony didn’t move. “Sit,” she repeated losing nearly all pretense as she took matters into her own hand swiping the canteen from him while lightly pushing him towards a boulder.  Anthony stumbled back and sat heavily on a large stone, a look of bewilderment written across his face as she took off with a brisk pace in Varric’s direction.

The trees closed in quickly behind her, their dense branches and brush causing an immediate shift in temperature and atmosphere.  The light was grey from shadow and the sun struggling to break through from above. The air was cool in the shade but thicker, mustier from the dense vegetation.  Varric was nowhere to be seen and so she stopped, her head swivelling from side to side to listen for him. Nothing. He wanted her to seek him out, a game that she hoped would end quickly before thrill turned to impatience.  She stepped further through the trees, alert, watching, waiting. He could have gotten quite far with the lead he’d had but that wasn’t the point. He wanted to be found, all she had to do was look. Anticipation bubbled up within her at the thought of what would happen when she found him.  Of Varric’s hands on her body, of his lips on hers. It spurred her steps and propelled her further on into the woods.

The trees grew larger, taller and wider the deeper into the forest she got, easy enough to hide behind even for one as broad as Varric.  Her eyes darted left and right scanning the forest floor and glancing through the trees for the sign of anything familiar. She nearly missed it, the tip of a boot peeking out from behind the base of a tree, mingled in the thick roots.  The brown leather a natural complement that hardly looked out of place, that she would have missed had she not been searching for something of its ilk. She stepped closer, for the first time taking care not to make too much noise though she had no doubt he knew that she was there already, close by.  She followed the length of his body up with her eyes as more and more came into view and found Varric leaning against the tree casually. His hands crossed peacefully across his stomach, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said with a wry smirk when their eyes finally met.

“Ugh,” she replied and rolled her eyes mockingly though she could not deny the smile that was breaking on her face.  Or the flush that was steadily creeping up her chest. He focused on her intently, his expression changing from a look of self-satisfaction to want.  The moment pulled, time extending between them as she could feel every individual heartbeat in her chest. Nothing in her mind but for the man before her.  The way his chest rose and fell with his steady breaths, the taut pull of fabric across his arms, the powerful muscle beneath straining against the well worn tunic.  She bit her lip in a mixture of anticipation and nervousness, this was all still so new to her. She had not felt this way since her youth, had not allowed herself to feel this way when her attentions were needed elsewhere.  

Varric’s eyes tracked the subtle motion, the only change as she stood before him and he swiftly pushed himself off the tree to stand before her, invading her space.  She dropped the canteens from her hands and he was on her before they hit the ground. Kissing her, his hands roving across her hips, wrapping themselves around her. He pushed at her as he searched for purchase against her body and she blindly stumbled backwards until her back hit something solid.  Varric pressed against her more firmly until she could feel every inch of him against her. Until she could no longer tell where she ended and he began.

His hands were just as hot and insistent as his mouth and she longed for the freedom of their camp when they didn’t have armour and thick leathers to impede them.  Not that that had seemed to stop Varric who had deftly worked his hand under the layers at her waist to find the bare skin of her back. His skin burned against hers.  When had he removed his glove? The thought vanished from her mind as his fingers slipped inside the waistband of her breeches and began to inch downwards. She gasped at the unexpected contact and his lips fell from hers and began kissing a path down her jaw to the sliver of bare skin at her neck.  The air was cool against her swollen lips and she struggled for breath as her body shivered in pleasure.

The tips of Varric’s fingers brushed against the rounded flesh of her ass, lingering against the junction between it and her thigh.  He gripped at her more forcibly and she pushed her body against him in response, letting him pull her in towards him. She wanted him, and she could feel his own want pressing against her thigh.  Her hands moved to cup his head and bring his lips back to hers. He followed their urging, trailing hot open mouthed kisses back across her throat until their lips met again.

Rough and calloused fingers were exploring the sensitive skin of her upper thigh now and a stuttered, rasping sigh fell from her lips onto his.  They had not—not yet, not anything of the sort but she could feel the heady pull of pleasure eclipsing her desire for soft romance.

Varric was no longer kissing her and she could feel the heat of his laboured breathing against her skin.  A repeating sensation of hot and cold as his breath cleared and was replaced by the cool forest air over and over.  His hand stilled and she could sense his trepidation. He was waiting for her to lead the way, to make the decision to push forward or to pull back.

There would be time for tenderness later she assured herself, too lost to the moment to care for anything but the feel of Varric wrapped around her.  For the yearning of more. “Yes,” she said breathlessly and nodded faintly. Her head fell back against the tree behind her and he kissed the underside of her jaw.  A breeze shifted the canopy of trees around them and the bright light of midday beamed in patches across the ground. She heard the flapping of a bird’s wings as it roused itself from a nearby tree with the movement of the wind, and the rustle of the leaves as they resettled themselves in its absence.  Something fainter, something harsh and unnatural rang in the distance as Varric’s hand alighted a trail across her skin. He squeezed her ass again and moved his hand slowly across her hip. The noise came again and she struggled to make it out clearly as her mind clouded, falling back into Varric’s insistent touches.

“Do you hear that?” she managed to get out before her concentration began to falter again.  Varric mumbled something unintelligible against her neck. “Varric just”—she raised a hand between them and gently pushed him back—“listen, please.”  He stopped immediately, his hands retreating. He looked at her worriedly, unspoken questions on his lips. Cassandra rested a hand on his neck to try and dispel his unease and brought a finger to her lips as she listened.  She held her breath and tried to clear her head, blood pulsing through her ears. Nothing beyond the rustle of leaves in the wind, and the skittering of small animals through the underbrush stood out and she began to question herself.  She had thought…? The sound came again. “There,” she said sharply.

“Voices,” said Varric at the same moment.  They looked at each other and took off back to the clearing.  Back to Anthony. The heightened patter of her heart turning from a passionate frenzy into a fearful pounding as they drew closer to where they had left the path.  The voices were louder now, unmistakable. They were many and though she could not make out the words she understood the tone. Threatening. Dangerous. She loosened her sword from its sheath as Varric darted ahead of her, banking to the side to circle the clearing and flank the men.  Through the trees she could see their forms now, she counted six. Grimey, dressed in dark leathers and heavily armed. Bandits. She searched frantically through the faces for Anthony’s until she found him sitting on the ground on the farthest edge of the clearing from her. His hands were bound behind his back, his arms sticking out in an unnatural angle.  The faint traces of a bruise were already forming on the side of his face and she felt the last shreds of her excited energy fade from her, only to be replaced by a boiling heat in her blood. A thirst, a viciousness she had thought long since erased from herself. She had to stop herself from charging immediately though every fiber of her being was urging her forward, pushing her to cut down the men that had injured her brother.  To save him, like she had not been able to before.

Only one man was guarding Anthony, two more were pulling apart their belongings, strewing them across the ground.  She could see Anthony’s longsword laying casually in the dirt at the feet of the looters, her shield as well. The remaining three bandits were clumped together further to the side openly eyeing Anthony as they conversed roughly in angry clipped remarks.  She would not let them get the chance to decide his fate.

With a yell to draw their attention to her and away from Varric who she hoped had already made it to the other side of the clearing, she lunged towards the nearest man, one of the looters.  Her sword arced downwards across his side easily cutting through the leathers that covered his torso. Blood bloomed from the gash and spilled across the ground in heavy hot droplets as he cried out in pain.  His partner's hands went instinctively to his weapons, daggers at his hips. But she ducked into a roll behind them, raking her sword across the back of their calves hobbling them as she severed their tendons before finishing her roll and coming once again to a stand, now with her shield in hand.

The body of the man guarding Anthony hit the ground beside her, the hilt of one of Varric’s daggers rising from his back.  Without taking her eyes off the remaining men she kicked Anthony’s longsword towards him, as Varric cut the bindings from his hands.  She no longer had the element of surprise and the rest of the bandits stood ready for her, daggers and axes drawn but they looked shaken.  Their eyes darting between her and their comrades writhing on the ground in agony. Without giving them time to regroup she advanced on them.

It was a flurry of motion as she engaged them, steel rang against steel as they parried her attacks.  Varric and Anthony joined the fray and she felt the tides shift further in their favour. What seemed to be the leader of the bandits rallied against her shield, pounding mercilessly against the steel with his axe.  She could feel a numbness creeping through her forearm as she tried to keep it raised against his blows, the reverberation of the metal ringing through her bones. With a cry she pushed against her shield, shoving his weapon back towards his body and propelling him backwards.  He swerved his head just in time to not be impaled on his own blade and recovered quickly, staggering back towards her. She locked eyes with him, saw how his laboured breathing matched her own and gave him no respite running forwards to ram him again, lay him prone against the ground.  He swung low at her legs and she pulled herself out of her forward momentum nearly too late, the whoosh of his blade as it tore through empty air dangerously close to her heels.

The change in direction had taken her to outer ring of the fight and she could see clearly now Anthony holding his own while Varric took every opening, every opportunity that her brother provided.  Anthony slammed his shoulder into one of the bandits driving him back before elbowing him in the face and using the man’s disorientation to deliver a final deadly blow with his longsword. The fight would not last much longer, but she had let her attention slip long enough.  Her opponent stalked towards her pushing her back, further from her companions. He carried his axe low now and with two hands, his energy waning. She had little doubt that she could take him one on one but felt uneasy about putting anymore distance between her and the others.  It was never wise to cut oneself off and he was forcing her into close combat within the trees where his lone axe would wield more freely than her sword and shield.

She sidestepped, tracking his movements to see if he would pivot as well but he continued forward choosing to close the gap between them instead.  His axe flew wide in an arc that they both knew wouldn’t land at that distance. He was getting impatient, but she was willing to play the long game.  She stepped to the side again and he turned fully to face her, bringing them both parallel to the others. He swung again and this time she had to raise her shield to deflect the blow.  Pushing it wide she took the opening and jabbed at his unprotected torso. Her hit landed and the tip of her sword sunk into his ribcage. He cried out and pulled himself backwards off her blade while swinging wildly, the blunt side of his axe bouncing off her shield.

A dagger whizzed through the air and embedded itself in his thigh, he let out an angry howl but ignored the blade advancing on her again.

“Sunder,” yelled Anthony in Nevarran and she instantly dropped to the ground, rolling to her left around her opponent.  He followed her and took the opening she’d left him bringing his axe above his head and swinging down at her with both hands.  She rose to one knee and wavered slightly before bringing her shield up above her head. Her body was reacting without thought, on instinct but not her own.  Her arm struggled to keep the force of the blow at bay, she would not be able to hold her position much longer. If he struck again she might not be able to stop it or move out of the way in time.  The pressure on her shield released as he reared back and she steeled herself against another blow bringing her shield in closer to her body.

The axe swung down towards her and her mind exploded in a sea of bright burning white light that blinded her as it flashed across her vision.  She closed her eyes against it but it radiated behind her eyelids, inescapable. Images blinked in and out of her mind, faster than she could take them in.  Building, growing like the crush of rushing water, a trickle becoming a torrent that had nowhere to go, no space to hold it. The pressure was too much and she dropped her sword and began clawing at the side of her head before everything went black.

 

\----

 

Her head ached.  There was a persistent pressure that covered her skull like a hand forcefully gripping the back of her head.  She had suffered worse, but not by much. As she slowly came back to consciousness the rest of her body began to wake up and she could feel the aftereffects of the fight in the tightness of her muscles, and the soreness of her limbs.  She remembered seeing Anthony captured, she remembered beginning the fight with the bandits but she could not remember anything past that. Panic lurched through her stomach as she realized she did not know the final outcome, or where she was and how she’d gotten there.  With great effort she opened her eyes, her heart in her throat. The deep inky black of the night sky fanned out above her and for a moment she thought she had not opened her eyes at all until the stars came into focus. Until the soft haze of a burning fire picked at the corners of her vision.  A low grumble of angry voices wormed its way into her ear and she strained to make them out, unable to tell one from the other or how many there were.

She turned her head away from the fire and towards the voices.  The pressure shifted across the back of her head and pounded down through her temples.  Her vision was still blurry, a combination of just waking up and the pain which had made her eyes well but she could make out two figures in the warm light of the fire.  Two figures she recognized. She breathed a sigh of relief and tried to sit up.

Blood pulsed like the steady beat of a drum in her ears as she laboured into a sitting position.  Her upper body swayed until she found the ground with her hands and steadied herself. A blanket pooled at her waist and she felt the rush of cold night air seep through her clothes, bringing some alertness back to her mind.  The angry rumble of Varric and Anthony’s voices stopped abruptly and just as suddenly there were hands on her shoulders and a cacophonous wave of concerns in her ear. Telling her to lay down, to rest.

“Stop,” she said sharply, her own voice reverberating through her head as loudly as theirs had.  They grew silent, staring at her intently their hands retreating. “What happened?” They looked at each other.

“What do you remember?” said Anthony softly as he knelt down beside her.  

“There were bandits, and you were tied up.  We fought,” she stated bluntly.

“Do you remember the fight?” Varric asked next.   His arms were crossed but she could see his fingers bunched in the fabric of his sleeves, digging into the flesh of his arms.

“I hobbled two of them, you took the third and then…”  There was a blankness in her mind, the memory of the fight was hazy but she could feel it coming back to her piece by piece.  Yet still there was a point at which she could remember nothing. She must have taken quite a blow to have forgotten it. “And then…”

“You fought a man with an axe,” supplied Anthony.  There was now a quizzical look in his eye and a questioning hopefulness in Varric’s.  She tried hard to remember but there were still only pieces in her mind and a vast blackness, a void that she could not fill.

“I-I do not…”  She wanted to shake her head, that it might clear some of the fog in her mind but stopped herself.  Unwilling to aggravate the pain in her head more than she had to. “Does it matter?” She looked between them both.  “We are all here, it must have ended well enough even if I did take a hit. I’m sure it will come back to me eventually.”  Anthony brought a hand up to his mouth and stared at her in thought before removing it.

“You didn’t get hit.” he explained.  “You fell...but you didn’t get hit.”

“I do not understand.”  Though there was a cloudiness in her head it was not affecting her comprehension, what he said made no sense.  Anthony looked up to Varric, something unsaid passing between them and turned back to her.

“I said something to you, in the heat of battle.  I lost myself I...forgot.” He winced. “It shouldn’t have meant anything but you... _reacted_.”

“Reacted?  What does that mean?” she said frustratedly, unable to stop the harshness in her tone.  Anthony opened his mouth to respond then closed it, his eyes drifting away from hers. It was like looking in a mirror, the same process she took when she could not find the words, when she could not express herself with ease.  His gaze did not return to hers when he spoke again.

“Over the years we have devised maneuvers, tactics that we use.  We’ve given them names and—”

“And that is what you said?” she interrupted, some idea of understanding coming to her.  He nodded. “That is...what I did?” she asked more slowly. He nodded again. This was ridiculous, there was no way she could have known or done what he’d said.  It had to have been coincidence, instinct in the heat of battle. “A coincidence then,” she brusquely voiced her thoughts, and Anthony sighed heavily.

“That’s what I thought but…”  His eyes flicked up towards Varric, though not high enough to meet his gaze.  She looked to him as well and the anguish in his face made her stomach drop, and she was struck with a sudden sense of fear.  Varric was rational, he questioned, he required proof and understanding. But he was looking at her now with pain in his eyes and it scared her because it meant that there was more to this, that _he_ thought there was more to this.

“This…”  Varric’s grip on his arms looked painful now, the skin of his knuckles was growing white.  “This isn’t the first time—I mean...not exactly.” He was struggling to get the words out and though she knew what that meant for him, knew that she should give him time she could not.  She was growing impatient. She wanted to know, she _needed_ to know what was happening.  She could feel the coursing of her own blood increase, dulling the pain, removing all focus on everything else around her except for this, except for Varric.

“Varric,” she growled.  She would apologize for her rudeness later if he did not understand the reason for her haste.  

“You’ve been forgetting things,” he said bluntly, cowing to her request for urgency.  The fear that had been stoking her senses, heightening her focus, flushed from her system leaving her with a nothingness.  A numbness so intense she was not sure she could move at all.

“What?”  Her voice had lost all authority, it sounded weak and breathless.

“People, places...just little things.”  Varric’s voice sounded just as small. The urgency he had mustered to satisfy her was gone again, he looked defeated and sounded almost ashamed as his voice grew quiet.  “The fight. That’s the first time you’ve—”

“Remembered,” cut in Anthony eagerly.  There was a flash of something angry, something dangerous in Varric’s features at the interruption.

“Wh—I do not…”  She looked to Varric.  “You are saying I am forgetting”—she looked back at Anthony—“and you are saying I am remembering.  How can that be?” She thought she understood what they were saying but it made no sense. It was impossible.  The pounding in her temples was back again and was turning into a mounting pressure. Maybe she did need to lay down again.  

Varric released the torturous grip he had been keeping on his arms and knelt down on the ground in front of her, next to Anthony.  Hesitantly he placed a hand on her blanket covered knee.

“Sorry, I’m not explaining this well.”  He took a deep breath before forcibly blowing the air out again in a rushing stream.  “The things you’ve been forgetting are things from our world.” Anthony gave him a sharp look which he ignored.  “Just momentarily, you’ve always remembered them again later.” His voice had taken on an almost pacifying quality like he was trying to reassure her.

“But today?”  The easy demeanour Varric was trying to display for her slipped fractionally.

“What happened today during the fight, what you...remembered.”  His mouth twisted around the word as if it had left a bitter taste on his tongue.  “It’s something only…” He stopped and she could tell by the hard set of his jaw that he didn’t want to speak any further, say what he had been about to say.  She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, not before she had heard everything yet it was beginning to coalesce within her, an understanding. Still, she needed to hear him say it, confirm what realizations she was coming to.  

Only when Anthony looked as if he was going to jump in, pick up where Varric had left off did he finally speak again.  Even then he spoke with the air of a man under duress, speaking only because he was being forced to. It was a quality she knew well in him.  Well enough now to know that this was truthful and not some manipulation conjured up by him to fool her.

“It’s something only this world’s Cassandra would know.”  

The truth of the matter sat solidly within her, the only other cause for sensation in her body other than the strain in her head.  A confirmation of her suspicions, of the realizations she had only had moments before. She was forgetting herself. Forgetting the world she knew.  And in its place. What? Remembering? Remembering things she had no way of knowing? It was impossible, everything she knew said it was impossible and yet here she was.  Sitting in an impossible world, speaking with an impossible man, doing impossible things. Varric, rational, logical Varric had already resigned himself to this truth. How then, could she deny it?

“No.”  She did shake her head now, in disbelief and pushed through the pain it caused.  “It is not possible, you are mistaken. You are both mistaken. I am fine, I am—”  Varric tightened his grip on her knee.

“Yes, you are,” he said with a pointedness that stilled the rambling words in her mouth.  “You’re fine, and you will be fine. We’re almost there, we’ll get you there and this will all be over.”  The seriousness with which he spoke shook her deeply but did nothing to pacify the despair that she was feeling.  It all made sense now, the urgency from Varric, the worry that she had seen in his eyes but that he had been trying to hide.

“How long?  How long has this been going on?”  It sounded as though she was accusing him, and in some way she was.  He had known, he had known and had said nothing.

“Since leaving Kirkwall.”  Varric’s face and voice were stoney, he had expected her questions then, had prepared his responses.  It made her no less accepting of them.

“Over a week?” she said in disbelief.  “And you said nothing?” There was a flash of heat behind his eyes.

“What should I have said?” he responded, his voice raised.  “I had no proof, only suspicions. I—” He closed his eyes and drew a large, steadying breath.  “I didn’t want to scare you,” he said more quietly.

“You had no right to keep this information from me Varric,” she spat out his name and could feel her nostrils flaring with a burning rage.  “I do not need your protection,” she growled.

“And if I want to give it?” he yelled back.  She hated how comfortable this felt, the yelling, the anger, the disappointment.  They had fallen back into a pattern they didn’t seem able to break. “You think I can’t see it?  The pain this world has brought you, how you’re suffering? So what! So what if I thought I could take some of that from you, spare you from it.”

“That is not for you to decide, _dwarf_.”  She couldn’t help herself as her lip curled in disgust and she let the words fall from her mouth, thoughtless and insulting.  Varric pulled back from her rigidly. His face remained hard and unmoving but she saw the hurt in the back of his eyes and she faltered in her rage-filled conviction.  Varric stood up and an expediency took her, to say something, anything. Words of regret and renewed anger overlapped and caught in her throat expelling nothing but silence.

“I guess not,” he said icily, and she watched him walk away unable to stop him.

Cassandra’s shoulders fell, knowing that she had pushed too much.  The anger she had felt, that she had felt she was entitled to seemed inconsequential now.  Seemed petty and reactive now that she had hurt Varric. It had been too easy to revert to such a state with him, letting her temper flare under stress and panic.

“He’ll come around,” said Anthony coolly and Cassandra started, her eyes darting quickly to him.  She felt a flush of shame that he had been witness to their arguing, to her loss of control. But her ire often caused a sense of tunnel vision within her, an unhealthy focus that eliminated anything else around her and for a moment she had forgotten that he was there.

“No, I—”  It felt an effort to speak now, now that the adrenaline of heightened emotion had left her.  “I will speak with him. I should not have said what I did,” she said defeatedly.

“You have a right to your anger Cassandra, he kept this from you.”  There was a hint of disbelief in his voice, that her words, her manner seemed so different then what they had just been.

“And he had his reasons for that.  I do not have have to agree with them but I cannot dismiss them either...I owe him at least that much.”  She did not think herself known for leniency, for second chances. But what were they living if not a second chance?

“You’ll forgive me if I say that I am confused.  What I just witnessed, all that you just said—”

“—I said in haste, in a moment of...distress.”  Her speech faltered as realization took her and she sighed heavily.  “It is not with him that my anger lies, not completely that is,” she explained tightly, annoyed at herself for letting the situation progress the way it had.  Anthony’s eyes narrowed in doubt before a look of understanding passed across his face, head bowing slightly.

“An outlet then?” he asked.

“Unfortunately,” she replied bitterly.  An apology would be required for making Varric the scapegoat of her anger, of her frustration with all that was happening to her.  He had gotten caught in the crossfire of her reeling emotions and she had blown the issue with him out of proportion as a way to take back some semblance of control where she felt she had none.

“Then I suppose I do not need to ask you how you feel about all of this?”  She sighed again.

“What can I say Anthony, I am confused.  This is confusing and-and...terrifying. I do not know what is happening to me.”

“I do understand some of what you’re feeling.”  He looked at her sadly and she was transported back to their conversation in his room at the Hanged Man.  He too was facing issues of identity, of his place in the world. In _this_ world.  Reaching out she took his hand in hers and squeezed his fingers, he offered her a sad smile in return.  “Do you think this is happening to Varric as well?” he asked cautiously. Cassandra searched her memories of Varric for the last few days, but could recall nothing out of the ordinary.  Nothing in his behaviour or speech that could not now be explained. She shook her head slowly.

“No, I’ve noticed nothing of the sort.”  She was thankful for it, they would need at least one of them with their mind unclouded if they were to survive this.

“Why you then?  If something is happening, if something is changing why just you?”  She did not miss the slight upturn in his voice as he spoke of change.  He almost sounded hopeful.

“It could simply be a matter of time, or…”  A thin stream of dread coiled into her stomach and brought a rancid taste to her mouth.

“Or?”

“Varric wants to leave this world, he has said it on numerous occasions,” she said flatly.

“As have you,” muttered Anthony.  

“As have I,” she confirmed.  “But not I think, with the same conviction.”  Since the moment she had awoken and seen Anthony standing above her there had been a discord within her.  Two parts of herself warring against one another, the logical versus the emotional. Had she done this to herself?  Had her inability, her unwillingness to leave Anthony behind caused this to happen? Varric felt no such attachment to this world, to anything in it.  It seemed the logical explanation then, that she had brought the upon herself through her own weakness.

Anthony stared at her intently and she was certain now, there was a hopeful look about him.  Sorrowful, yes. But hopeful still.

“And here I thought you could not get away from me fast enough,” he joked, masking well the tremor of pain that his words implied.  Raw already from an excess of emotion Cassandra felt his pain keenly and gripped at his hand for stability.

“Anthony,” she choked, as a heat welled in her nose and behind her eyes.  “I could never—I would never think that. You have never, ever left my mind.  Not once. Is this entire world not proof of that?”

“No, I...I know,” he assured her yet he still sounded doubtful.  “But if I am to accept what this world is, what I am, has not your entire purpose here been to leave me?”  His words cut through her like a dull knife, ripping and tearing raggedly at her insides. She had thought foolishly, naively, that she could delay her confrontation with these thoughts and emotions until the very last moment.  But they were here, now, sitting in front of her demanding attention. She could not, through sheer force of will alone merge these two antithetical ideas. She could not both remain here with Anthony and return to her own reality.  The gripping pressure against the back of her head returned, and hot tears threatened to streak down her face.

“I have never faced anything more difficult, more painful than this,” she said breathlessly.  “Seeing you again and knowing that I cannot stay by your side I—”

“You do not have to go back,” he said gently and what final resolve she had broke within her, tears beginning to stream freely down her cheeks.

“Please Anthony,” she pleaded weakly.  “Please do not make this harder than it already is.  Know that I do not choose to leave you, I choose to return.”  Cassandra studied her brother’s face, mapping the heartache and disappointment that she saw there as much as it killed her to do so.  Knowing that if he asked her to stay, that she may not be able to tell him no. Knowing that her willpower, her determination was quickly eroding away.

Anthony covered their hands with his and brought them first to his mouth before holding them tightly between them.  “Cassie.” He spoke her name warmly and she could see tears forming in his eyes. “No matter what your choice is know that I love you, and I will always be with you.”

She had almost wanted him to plead with her, beg her to stay with him if only to take the choice away from her.  Instead this would be the beginning of their end, a chance at the goodbye they never had.

“I love you too Anthony.

 

\----

 

It had not gone as planned, telling Cassandra what he thought was happening to her.  But Varric couldn’t say that he was surprised with how it had played out. He had expected anger from her, harsh words and cruel jabs were commonplace between them and he had never taken them to heart before.  But that was then and this was now. He hated to admit it, he thought he was made of stronger stuff but it had stung, being told that she did not need him. Now the air was heavy with spent emotion and it was making him uncomfortable.  He wanted to leave, leave all of it behind him so that it no longer itched at his skin urging him to do something about it. He’d never given a shit about it before, but he apparently did now. Enough that even though she had plainly said that she did not need his protection, that she did not need him to ease her pain he was still unwilling to add to her suffering by leaving, even if only temporarily.  Because he knew how it felt to be abandoned, to be left behind by those who were supposed to care for you. They both needed space, and he needed to clear his head but he didn’t want her to look up and find him gone if even for a second.

Apparently that meant shivering his ass off in the shadows on the edge of the clearing far from the heat and light of the campfire where Cassandra sat.  Varric sighed heavily and tried to find a more comfortable tree to rest against, kicking at the leaves and stones at his feet restlessly. He should have stormed off to the tent, or at least in the direction of his pack then he might have had something to do to while away the time.  Regretfully, Varric pulled his tunic closer around him and shook his shoulders in interest of doing anything to try and stave off the evening’s chill. If he was reading the atmosphere correctly it would be while yet before he would be able to warm himself near the fire. Anthony had left Cassandra’s side some time ago but he still didn’t think enough time had passed to rejoin her.  He hadn’t been able to hear what had been said between them, but anyone could have understood from the body language alone that their conversation had not been for the faint of heart. Which meant that emotions were running high for everyone. Bully for him.

Movement from the fireside caught Varric’s attention and he watched as Cassandra’s head fell into her hands.  The sight pulled at his heart and he debated whether or not it was worth bringing her wrath down on him once again if only to give her something else to focus on for awhile.  At the first shake of her shoulders he lost the battle within himself, heart winning over logic, and his feet began to move towards her almost without thought. He slowed his pace as he approached her huddled form, reality finally wending its way back into his consciousness.  He was intruding. This wasn’t what she needed, him barging in. She needed space, she needed time alone with her own thoughts. Varric stopped mid-step, conflicted as to how he should proceed, how he could extricate himself without her noticing. A muffled sob reached his ears and once again the decision was made for him.  Apprehensively, he knelt down beside her.

“Don’t cry,” he said lowly, his voice anguished and barely above a whisper.  Cassandra’s head jolted out of her hands at the sound of his voice and she began to hastily wipe the tears from her face with the sleeves of her tunic.  Embarrassment creeping into her features. “Yell at me all you want, but please”— his voice hitched on the word at the sight of the wetness still on her cheeks, and clinging to her eyelashes—“please don’t cry.”  Just as suddenly as she had started, she stopped. Her hands falling heavily into her lap. Her initial embarrassment gone and replaced with a dullness, a laxness in her eyes and mouth. “I should have told you,” he began, his voice pleading.  “I’m sorry—”

“No,” she said quietly but forcefully, cutting him off.  “I let fear take my tongue. What I said, it was cruel and unthinking.  And it is not an excuse, but I was…” She paused looking uncertain of herself.

“Scared?” he supplied while watching her closely, knowing that what she could not say with her words she would express with herself.  

Cassandra nodded reluctantly.

“I do not mean that you were right not to tell me,” she continued, her voice growing stronger.  Varric stoppered the brief wave of opposition within him at her words and willed her to finish. This was not the time to start arguing anew. “But you were only trying to protect me and I…”  Cassandra looked at him for the first time since he had joined her. “Thank you, Varric.” She held his gaze for a moment before shaking her head and turning from him once again. “I do not feel myself—and I, I do not mean this”—she waved her hands at their surroundings—“whatever this is.  Only that, you were right. This has been too much all at once.” Cassandra looked crestfallen again and Varric began to feel his body tense. He couldn’t stand to see her look so defeated, so downtrodden. It was contradictory to who she was, strong and determined and mindful.

“I never thought you couldn’t handle this.”  His voice sounded almost raw as if he had been the one crying.  “I know you can,” he said pressingly. “But you shouldn’t have to, or at least...if I had told you earlier maybe we could have handled it together.  This is”—he sighed deeply—“this is not what I wanted to happen. Can we just...I don’t know, start over?” Cassandra began to shake her head and he felt his stomach sink.  

“We cannot Varric.  We cannot change the past.”  She paused for a moment, her lips still parted in thought before they closed, her head nodding slightly in agreement to a discussion that he was not privy to.  “We cannot change the past,” she repeated. “But we can strive to do better.”

Varric took a deep breath, expelling it before saying, “I’m sorry Cassandra.”  Though he had already said it, it bore repeating. Cassandra’s hand found his at her side and the pit that had formed in his stomach began to release.  He squeezed her fingers gently and she moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder, their sides barely touching.

They sat in silence for some time, with only the sounds of the woods around them and their own breathing breaking the quiet.  Varric mulled over all that they had said, and all that he had left unsaid. Though they had managed a small reprieve for now, he was certain that this would not be the only discussion about this that they would have.  He suspected the morning would bring with it a renewed conversation, one with clearer heads. But it could wait, for now at least. Until then he would do what he could to give and show Cassandra the support that she needed, even if she could not ask for it.

Varric felt Cassandra’s body stiffen against his own, and heard her breath in his ear lose its steady rhythm.  “Varric,” she whispered, almost questioningly. He hummed in response to let her know that he was listening. “I’m—”  Her voice faltered. “I’m frightened.”

Varric gripped tightly at her hand that was already in his, unwilling and unable to let her go.

“So am I.”

 

\----

 

Morning came just as quick as ever, but did not bring with it the same joy that the previous morning had.  Varric shifted against Cassandra’s back burrowing in closer not yet ready to face the day, to face any of it.  He felt her body tense against his, and loosened his grip around her. The tenseness remained and he pulled back from her worried now that he had crossed a line.  That she was still mad at him over what had happened the night before. As he rolled onto his back away from her she sat up with an alarming speed that made his head reel just to watch it, her hair swishing violently from side to side.  He brought a hand up to rub at the sleep in his eyes and when he removed it she was staring at him wild eyed.

He knew something was wrong just from looking at her.  The ferocity in her eyes, the rigidness of her posture screamed danger long before he even registered the feel of sharp steel, the edge of blade at his throat.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my tent?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that the last two chapters are probably going to be delayed, I'm not happy with them at the moment and rushing them isn't gonna make 'em any better. So stay tuned for future updates - Cheers


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